


The Dragon of Avalon

by darklydreamingdoctor



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: BAMF Merlin, Dragon Merlin, Gen, Hurt Merlin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2018-04-01 12:13:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 27
Words: 25,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4019344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darklydreamingdoctor/pseuds/darklydreamingdoctor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Merlin is wounded at Camlann instead of Arthur, the two journey to Avalon in a final attempt to save the sorcerer's life. Once there they receive help from an unexpected source... with unexpected consequences. <br/>(also posted on ffn)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Liar

He was light, lighter than Arthur had remembered, but at the same time there was a certain dead weight to his friend

_friend? Was that still true?_

that made his arms burn. After they'd lost the horses Merlin had tried walking alongside him for a ways but after Arthur had had to catch him for the third time he'd picked him up, trying to ignore the low, hollow moan at every step. At first he hadn't cared about the sound, enjoyed it even

_how could he lie for so long? Everyone was a liar but not Merlin, never Merlin-_

but even with the sour, burning taste of betrayal in his mouth he couldn't help but remember that the blade had been meant for him. It was probably another day's journey to Avalon and silently Arthur wondered if they'd even make it

_maybe it's for the best. Then I don't have to-_

because the dead weight was sinking into his shoulders like lead and every time he looked down the crimson was still there, still dark and wet even with the makeshift bandage wound as tightly as he'd been able. It was on his armor, too, glinting brightly in the evening sun. Merlin hadn't shifted in a while and vaguely Arthur wondered if he was dead. He hadn't decided how that would make him feel when, in answer, the pallid skin on his burden's face tightened in a grimace.

The sunset was slow, languid, like the day would stretch on forever as sweat ran down from Arthur's temples. There was a different kind of sweat on Merlin's face, a sickly sheen, and Arthur pretended not to notice. He stumbled a couple of times as he gazed ahead, staring down the interminable forest and still undecided as to whether or not he wanted to reach the lake's shore. Arthur couldn't decide on a lot of things, it seemed. He was too confused to feel angry (or maybe too tired), but he could sense a dull rage throbbing in his head.

_Liar, liar, liar, liar,_ _**liar.** _

He didn't look down at the man he carried because the face was wrong. It had been a mask, a bright, familiar mask, all cheerful smiles and innocence and  _lies_. The man he carried was evil, had to be, because magic was pure evil and he'd been using magic all along. It was the face of

_Merlin, the sun pouring over his tired face as he said, "I didn't want you to feel that you were alone."_

_Merlin, jumping in front of the Dorocha and begging to stay with Arthur when he couldn't even sit up, let alone fight._

_Merlin, telling him solemnly, "I'll be happy to serve you until the day I die."_

a sorcerer.

The interminable day, Arthur realized as he tripped for the fifth time, was turning into an interminable night. There was a clearing not far ahead and he made for it, setting Merlin down with a gentleness that surprised even him. Still, the man cried out pitifully, and Arthur stood and turned away in disgust

_for me or for him_

and began to search for firewood. It had been almost warm that day but without the sun on their backs it was rapidly getting colder.

"Do you even know how to light that?"

The voice was unexpected and Arthur froze, still poised to start the fire. He turned to see that Merlin had propped himself up on one of the bags and was smiling tentatively, but there was no mistaking the fear and anxiety in his eyes even in the dark. Arthur felt a swell of gladness but quickly shoved it aside

_it's not Merlin, it's a sorcerer, a_ _**liar** _

and fixed him with a hard stare. "I imagine it's easier when you're using magic."

The weak smile fell away and Arthur felt a fleeting pride even as he felt ashamed. Perhaps it was the latter of the two emotions that won out in that moment because then he heard his own voice, strangely calm.

"Go ahead."

"What?" Without the crooked smile to hide behind the fear and anxiety were even more plain now, etched into skin paled to a sickly white and in eyes that were a little too glassy.

"Use magic. That's why you're so good at lighting fires, isn't it?" There was a tense pause. "I'm not going to execute you, Merlin, just start the damn fire." As Arthur spoke he saw Merlin flinch and realized that he must have been expecting as much (although the idea of executing a man in the middle of the night in a forest was somewhat laughable). At the same moment Arthur also realized that he had no intention of executing his old friend-

_friend?-_

servant.

He didn't want to watch as Merlin raised his hand at the crude pit Arthur had made, and yet he couldn't look away. There was a word- an old word, a  _magic_ word- and the familiar blue eyes were blazing an eerie, inhuman gold and then there were flames, snapping and crackling as innocently as any other campfire Arthur had ever seen.

"How long?" he asked conversationally, sitting a little ways back from the fire and regarding it suspiciously.

"I was born with magic," Merlin stared sleepily into the flames, too, and Arthur cast a few him furtive looks. "It wasn't... I didn't choose it, if that's what you thought. And I've only ever used it for you, Arthur."

The words were biting. The same magic that had killed his parents and warped his half-sister had been used in his name for God knew how long.

"How could you never tell me?" There was an edge of petulance in his voice, like a child, and he winced inwardly.

"You would have chopped my head off." He laughed softly, like it was a joke, but Arthur knew it wasn't. "I wanted to tell you, Arthur. I tried once or twice, but I..." he swallowed, looking small. "I'm sorry." He paused again, turning to look at Arthur. "If I could do it all again I would."

"I don't understand. If you've always had magic, why would you come to Camelot?" Arthur didn't meet Merlin's searching gaze.

"It was my destiny." Merlin settled back on the pack, groaning slightly as he shifted but looking almost...  _content_. "I was born to keep you safe, to ensure you could become king. The Once and Future King..." he was slurring a little, and his eyes were closed. The movement of his chest was shallow.

"We can't stay here." His voice sounded apologetic to his own ears. "Avalon's still a day's hike away

_and Merlin can't make it that far, he won't last without the horses_

and we can't waste much time."

"It doesn't matter," he thought he heard Merlin say.


	2. Avalon

"Hey," he gently shook Merlin's shoulders, but there was no response. "Hey, come on. We've got to get moving."

It had been about two hours. Arthur had stayed awake, watching the magic fire and listening to the intermittent coughing, moaning sounds coming from Merlin. He was getting worse. Arthur estimated he had another day, almost certainly less. They would have to hurry.

"Go away," the blue eyes didn't open but Arthur sighed with relief at the tired voice.

"Come on, Merlin. Stop being such a girl." He kicked out the fire and kept his voice light as he picked the man up. He felt, rather than heard, the sharp intake of breath.

"Stop, please," he whimpered, and Arthur shook his head.

"Look, unless you want to walk to Avalon-"

"I don't care about Avalon!" Merlin burst out, and Arthur froze.

"Gaius said it's your last chance. Why-"

"I can't, I...I'm just tired," he amended softly, and suddenly there was a chill Arthur hadn't noticed before. "I did everything I had to... just let me sleep, Arthur, I'm so tired..." the words were dreamy and yet they were colder than the breeze ruffling Arthur's hair. He shook his head and began to walk as fast as he could without jostling Merlin too much.

"When we get back home I'll give you a day off," Arthur said suddenly, desperately, and saw a smile playing at Merlin's lips.

"An entire day?"

"Two," he offered brightly, and Merlin seemed to drift back to sleep then. Arthur began to walk faster.

The trees, and the hours, flitted by and Arthur was in a daze. Merlin slept fitfully, and every time he woke he begged to stop and to rest. He cried out people's names- Gaius, his mother, Gwaine, himself. There was only one name Arthur didn't recognize: Freya.

His legs were burning, and his arms, but he didn't dare shift his grip on Merlin. Every time Arthur looked down the man's face spurred him to go a little faster. The lips were colorless, like the skin, and dark circles had formed under the eyes which roved wildly beneath sallow eyelids. His arms dangled loosely in the air beneath him but the fingers would clench and relax in white-knuckle spasms.

"Merlin, talk to me." Arthur was out of breath but he wanted Merlin awake,  _needed_ him awake, because he was worried the man might not wake up from his feverish sleep. "Wake up, Lazy Daisy. Remember? Rise and shine."

"Shuddup... clotpole." The reply was slow, spaced unevenly between ragged breaths, but it sounded like Merlin's usual inane banter and Arthur smiled.

"You know, after all that talk about notching my belt, I do believe that you've gotten fatter."

"I'd still...beat you, in a footrace." Just below his line of sight Arthur caught a glimpse of a worn but familiar smirk. He was trying to think of some sort of snappy comeback

_it was hard, so hard. He always had some witty response on hand but this time-_

when Merlin spoke again. "Thank you."

"For what? Carting your idiot self around because you went and got yourself into trouble?" he asked lightly. He knew what Merlin was about to say and he didn't want to hear it because the trees were thinning and he could see, distantly, the glint of water ahead.

"It has been... an honor, sire," Merlin said thickly. There was a beatific look on his face and Arthur shook his head, his eyes burning. "You are the greatest king... that Camelot has ever known, and I-I... I'm so happy I..."

He drifted into silence and Arthur faltered, looking down. The look of bliss was clearing, Merlin's eyes having slid shut, and he just looked tired. Tired and still.

" _Merlin_." Arthur realized he had stopped completely and he broke into a sprint, tearing through the last of the trees and into the lake. He fell to his knees in the shallows and the water was cold, so cold, and there was a keening noise coming from somewhere nearby

_it's me, my God, but Merlin-_

and there was something in his throat, something that he couldn't swallow and his face felt hot and he held his ear over Merlin's chest.

"-please, Merlin,  _dammit,_ we made it, we're here," he was sobbing, and then he heard it.

 _Thump_.

It was so soft he thought he'd imagined it, until there was a second-  _too far apart, they shouldn't be that far apart_ \- but he was  _alive._

 _"HELP ME!"_ He screamed, and it rebounded off the lake. He'd made it to Avalon but he had no idea what he was supposed to do and the clearing was empty. Nobody was coming to help. Precious seconds ticked by and he was losing him, he was losing his best friend on some godforsaken lake shore and it was supposed to be him on the sand, not Merlin, never Merlin.

" _PLEASE!"_ Arthur cradled the man's head to his chest, half in and half out of the water, and watched strange rivulets of crimson ebb away from where they sat. Filaments broke away, winding like seaweed. " _SOMEBODY!"_

The echoes of his voice mocked him. The last traces of it died away and there was silence on the lake.

And then came the sound of wings.


	3. The Dragon

"Kil... Kil..." Arthur tore his gaze from the hulking creature in the sky to find Merlin's eyes open, dull but searching. To Arthur it sounded like a plea:  _Kill_. He didn't know if Merlin was lucid enough to register the threat of the dragon, or if he was begging Arthur to let him sleep ( _I'm so tired, Arthur...)_ but either way Arthur didn't reach for his sword. He held his friend tighter and glared at Kilgharrah as he descended on the shore.

"So we meet again, Arthur Pendragon." The creature spoke and its voice held a wisdom Arthur couldn't even fathom but at that moment the dragon sounded angry.

"I do not want to fight you," Arthur said, trying to keep his voice level.

"Kil... Kilgharrah..." Merlin sounded delirious, his head snapping from one side to the other in agitation. " _Nun... drakon, nun de ge..._ "

"No," the dragon tilted its head, blinking owlishly at the king. The golden eyes were massive, fiery... and sad.

_"Ithi! Non didlkai, **ithi** , Kil..._" Arthur looked down at Merlin, who had opened his eyes again and was looking at the dragon with a panicked expression on his face. Arthur saw that the familiar blue fizzled with same gold as the dragon, weak and sporadic, and realized sickeningly that Merlin was trying to cast a spell.

"Not this time, young warlock," Kilgharrah settled down onto the sand like a cat, his neck dipping until the great head was within inches of Arthur's. The king froze, feeling the warmth of the dragon's breath wash over him and waiting for a burst of flames. "You will be the greatest king that Albion will ever know, Pendragon. The boy has given his life to make sure of it." There was a heady pause and Arthur watched the nostrils flare, imagining a jet of gold and red. "But you are not ready yet."

"No, please, I don't want...  _ithi, nun de ge..._ Kilgharrah, please..." Merlin was almost panting now and Arthur had to tighten his grip for fear that his friend would reopen the wound on his chest.

"It will be my pleasure." The great dragon pulled away. "Arthur, you will need to stand back."

"No." His hands instinctively closed tighter on Merlin's arms and he felt the man stiffen, but he didn't let go.

"You will create the future you were destined to, Arthur Pendragon, but you cannot succeed without Merlin. It is his destiny to protect you. And it is my destiny to save him." There was a pause, and the expression softened. "Please, young king. There is not much time."

Letting go of Merlin was the most difficult thing Arthur could ever remember having to do. The sorcerer was sobbing, choking out the same fragments of a language Arthur didn't understand:  _Drakon, n_ _un de ge ithi. Non didlkai ithi. Kilgharrah, ithi._

"I wanted this, Kilgharrah, please..." Merlin's voice was wavering, his skin deadly pale now that Arthur could see him at a distance.

"It is my time, young warlock. And it is my honor."

The great head lowered and the spray of light that Arthur had been expecting came- not in a jet, but in a billowing wave which overtook the slight form half in and half out of the lake. The golden light flooded over Merlin, past him, and the whole of the surface of the lake was set aflame, but the fire looked unspeakably gentle. It reminded Arthur of Merlin's blood in the water, twisting towards the sky in glowing fibers and dancing in thousands of independent streams. The light grew so intense that it seemed to blot out the sun and yet it didn't burn Arthur's eyes. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

The light slowly receded, seeming to be drawn to a single point on the beach. As more and more of it disappeared Arthur realized it was pouring into the body of his friend. Merlin was faceless, featureless, a body made of light and of magic. It burned brightest where the sword wound had been, blazing for a moment longer before it began to disappear.

The dragon looked at Arthur, silent, and Arthur realized that there were tears coursing down his own face. There was an unutterable sadness in the air, like the universe itself was grieving over what he now understood to be the death of a dragon. Kilgharrah's scales were rippling, lifting first like grass on a windy plain and then spiraling away, breaking into thousands of tiny glittering pieces as the dragon lifted his head to the sky. The sorrow grew so intense that Arthur feared he would break and then the creature was gone, leaving Arthur alone on the beach with Merlin's still form.

He couldn't find his voice but he ran, kicking up plumes of sand as he neared his friend. There was no rise and fall in the bony chest and the crimson looked as wet as ever and  _it didn't work, the dragon failed, I failed and it was all too late-_

And then there was a sound. An airy, breathless sound, like a faint breeze struggling to reach the mouth of a cavern.

Merlin's eyes opened.


	4. Changing

"Merlin!" Arthur grabbed the lifeless shoulders and shook them, his fingers reveling in the healthy warmth of the sorcerer's skin beneath the sodden clothes. "Hey. Say something."

Suddenly a violent cough seemed to force its way up from somewhere deep in Merlin's chest and the man surged forwards against the king's grip, sucking in air in heaving gasps like a drowned man. Arthur pulled him into a fierce hug, feeling a pulse as their necks briefly touched.

"Does this mean...you're not going to banish me?" Even while coughing the old sarcasm was there and Arthur finally had to force himself to pull away from the hug, laughing almost deliriously.

"No," he said, some of the mirth dying from his voice as he realized he meant it. After a moment, he remembered himself and stood. "How are you feeling?"

"Better than you look, prat." Merlin smiled and got to his feet, unaided, and Arthur felt a swell of relief in his chest, and then suddenly Merlin pitched forward.

"Hey. Hey, what is it?" He grabbed at the man, who was holding his head in both hands and groaning. "Talk to me. What's going on?"

"I need to get to Gauis," he managed, and his eyes snapped open. The blue irises were clouded, swirling with sluggish spirals of gold like water after someone had poured in a pitcher of milk. His heart in his mouth, Arthur pulled one of Merlin's arms around his neck and started walking towards Camelot.

"What did it do to you?" He kept one eye on his friend as they walked. His brow was furrowed, his eyes shut, and he breathed heavily even though their pace was slow at best. There was no answer. Unnerved by the deathly silence, Arthur tried again. "Merlin."

"What." For all their banter Arthur was unused to the hard edge to his manservant's voice.

"When you said… When you told me you were tired—"

"I was delirious, Arthur. It didn't mean anything."

"I don't want to hear that ever again." He didn't want to admit it but it had scared him. Merlin had always seemed so cheerful, making jokes even when death seemed imminent, and for him of all people to say something like that…

"Do you have any idea how alone I felt?" Merlin murmured. "Every day." There was a pause. "Can you imagine realizing that your best friend could never know… who you really were, because if he did, he would hate you?"

"I don't hate you, Merlin," Arthur took a deep breath. "I could never hate you."

"You hate magic. Magic is a part of me, Arthur. And when we get back to Camelot-"

"We're a while away from Camelot yet." He chose to ignore the sharp question in Merlin's words. The quiet became almost tangible and they walked on.

They had made it a few miles when Merlin's knees seemed to give out on him. He fell, clutching with frightening strength at Arthur's arm, and let out a terrible, agonizing scream. Arthur had never felt so powerless in his life.

"Tell me what to do!" He was panicking.

The scream tapered off into a series of miserable, barking cries, with no intelligible answer.

"Tell me what you need. What's going on? I can't—"

"Gaius," Merlin managed before screaming again, curling up like he was trying to protect himself from some invisible force. His hands had snaked themselves into his hair, the knuckles branded a bony white. "Get Gaius."

"I can't leave you alone here!" Arthur could see the man's body shaking, almost seizing as he panted.

" ** _GO!"_**  It was more than a scream. It was a roar, and waves of sound seemed to ripple out from Merlin and the trees around them snapped away as in the face of a hurricane. Arthur stumbled and fell on his backside, half-frozen in shock. Merlin's eyes were no longer hazy but also not the light gold of a sorcerer; they were the fierce, burning gold of the dragon, halved by catlike slits, and when he'd screamed, Arthur had caught sight of incisors and canines elongated almost to the point of fangs.

" _Please."_ As if in contrast Merlin spoke again and he sounded small, breaking into hiccuping sobs. Arthur got to his feet and ran.

_Somewhere, far from the clearing where Merlin lay, Morgana's head snapped up from a grave marked only by a sword. An inhuman scream had echoed across her consciousness and across the consciousness of every Druid in the Five Kingdoms. It was a scream of unspeakable agony and yet of equally unspeakable power, and Morgana's tears almost froze on her face._

_"Emrys," she breathed, and she pulled the sword from where it had been stuck into the earth._


	5. Help

Arthur had never been a runner, not really. He was an excellent horseman and an even better fighter, but as his chain mail shuddered and dragged him down with every step he wished he had walked or run on a couple of hunting trips. The past few days had been the longest of his life. He thought to himself, pityingly, that he was running ( _goddammit, I'm too tired for puns like that_ ) on a collective five hours of sleep for about three days, gathered between battles and toting Merlin around and now sprinting like his life depended on it ( _because Merlin's does)._

_I'm so tired._

More than once he had caught himself slowing

_just for a little bit, just a few minutes, nobody has to know—_

and then the image of Merlin would materialize, unbidden, in his head: lying, shivering, on the forest floor, crying out hideous broken sobs for help, or worse

_stop_

because it had been hours since he'd left him

**_stop_ ** _it_

and he could have gotten worse

**_stop it_ **

and after everything Arthur had said to him

**_shut up._ **

He began to run faster.

Somehow, it was nighttime. Arthur had been drifting, practically asleep on his feet but still he ran. There was a coppery taste in his mouth but his tongue was too dry to swallow and his throat burned anyways. At some point he supposed he'd shed his armor because he was wearing only his tunic and pants, and they were soaked and he was aware of feeling cold and so he sped up again.

Time was passing in a strange and disconcerting haze. The space that the moon had been occupying only a moment ago was now encompassed with an impossibly bright sun, dancing in a dizzying line in the sky and sometimes there was more than one, like the trees which jumped confusingly in front of him and the roots which materialized beneath his feet. His knees pulsed angrily and scratches he didn't remember getting burned on his arms, his face, through foreign tears in his clothes. He blinked and the sun seemed to be lower than it ought to have been and then it was night again and Arthur sat up with a hoarse cry. He'd passed out. Hours might have passed, days, even, and panicked sobs forced their way up and out of his ragged throat as he scrambled to his feet and began to run again.

When the uneven forest floor gave way to hard-packed dirt Arthur didn't notice; even when he shambled past the confused palace guards, he didn't see them or hear their calls. He ran straight into Gaius's chambers and would have kept running if the old physician had not reached out and grabbed Arthur's shoulder.

"Arthur?" He asked incredulously as the guards caught up and spilled into the suddenly cramped room.

Arthur couldn't speak, his eyes roving wildly about the room apparently without sight.

"Arthur, where's Merlin? What happened?" There was a hard edge in Gaius's voice—disguised fear. He led the king towards his own cot and Arthur seemed to come around.

"Help," he croaked, and Gaius nodded knowingly.

"He's severely dehydrated and malnourished. He needs rest, and-"

"Merlin," Arthur shook his head frantically, pushing away arms that herded him towards the bed. "Please, he... help, he..."

"Where is he?" Gaius seemed to understand immediately, handing Arthur a cup of water. Gratefully he swallowed, and when he spoke again, his voice sounded rusty, but intelligible.

"Something happened. There was a dragon and it healed him, but something went wrong. I couldn't move him." Arthur's voice broke. "Oh, gods, Gaius, I think he might be dying."

"Can you take me to him?" Gaius kept his tone professional but faintly, Arthur heard it quiver. He nodded, and the physician began to pack a bag with books and herbs. His hands were shaking.

"I'm coming," Percival stepped forward, Leon sidling up next to him.

"Where's Gwaine?" Arthur asked slowly. It wasn't unlike the knight to be absent ( _figures, he's probably at the tavern)_ but the man seemed to have a sixth sense wherever Merlin was concerned. His question was met with silence, and he repeated it more forcefully. "Percival,  _where's Gwaine_?"

Despite being the largest man in the room Percival looked pitifully small, unable to meet the king's eyes. "Morgana, she…"

Arthur closed his eyes, and he was thankful for the exhaustion he felt because otherwise the news of Gwaine's death would have been crushing. "We need to get going," he said finally, and their small party filed out of the physician's chambers and towards the stables.

 


	6. Merlin

 

 

 

All at once there was no sound, and too much. He'd been wounded before, stabbed and shot and burned, and he was expecting—no, he was ready—for it to hurt. But when there was no pain, he knew something was different. Wrong.

His vantage point from the cliff had felt almost godly as he swept his arms through the air, bolts of lightning dancing from his fingertips. Even in disguise it was the freest he'd ever felt. Instinctively his eyes roamed the battlefield, searching out one man amidst hundreds. Arthur was surrounded but fighting the way he always did, and Merlin flared his hand towards him, and the men around the king were thrown like rag dolls. Arthur looked up, and their eyes met. A strange shiver coursed down Merlin's spine. From such a distance the king's gaze was unreadable but Merlin felt… uncovered. Naked, almost. And honest. Storm clouds of his own design were circling above his head and Arthur could see them, see him, and Merlin imagined for a second that Arthur was seeing through the beard and the aged face, too.

He didn't know how long they might have stood, staring out at each other, but the standoff was broken by a single figure tearing through walls of knights and mercenaries alike towards Arthur. Merlin recognized Mordred almost instantly and he suddenly felt icy cold.

_Not like this. Not here. Not after everything._

He almost flew down the cliff face, leaping over boulders and shedding his aging spell like a cloak when it slowed him down. Men in front of him were cast aside, the throngs parted without so much as a thought on his part. The fear rose and swelled in his chest, expanding so it felt like his heart would burst through his ribs.

"Arthur!" He shouted, his voice breaking in a surge of panic. The king was defending himself from Mordred's blows but only just, an expression of terrible sadness on his face. The Druid's face, in contrast, was violently distorted by an animalistic hatred. His mouth was moving, shouting indiscernible curses and with every one Arthur's parries slowed. The king staggered under the blows, his arms visibly shaking.

" **FIGHT ME!"** Mordred was screaming, swinging left and right like a man chopping down a tree. There was no grace, only boundless rage, and each drive pushed Arthur farther back. One wild swing knocked Excalibur from his hand and he made no move to reclaim it, falling onto his back as he stared up at Mordred, resignation written all over his features.

There was no time to think, not that Merlin would have done anything different given the time. He leapt, shielding Arthur with his body as the sword was driven home.

No pain.

There was a noise, like stepping into an unexpected patch of mud. The sounds of the battle had been muffled as with cotton, and yet he could hear his heartbeat like thunder. The pace was regular, steady. His breathing was even. It was like nothing had happened. But colors were fading, seeping out of everything even as it shifted and he fell backwards. Arthur had scrambled up, and as Merlin's head lolled back he caught a glimpse of the king's face. He was screaming something, veins suddenly pronounced in his neck and his entire body trembling with the force of his cry. He picked up his sword and lunged forwards in a single motion, and Merlin heard that sound, too—the soft schick as the blade tore through the Druid's torso and emerged, stained, on the other side.

With that noise, every sound came crashing back in waves. The roar of the battle around him enveloped him, the screams of the wounded and the dying and a single voice, so familiar Merlin almost missed it.

"No," it was saying, softly, like a child. Lost. "No, no. No, please, no."

Arthur's face swam into focus and Merlin smiled.

"S'okay," he mumbled. His eyelids were heavy, deliciously so. How nice it would feel to sleep…

"Open your eyes. Dammit, Merlin, listen to me, I need you to open your eyes. I need you awake. I need you, Merlin, please—"

The voice was broken, and sad.  _Why was he so sad?_

"It doesn't hurt," Merlin said, and he wanted to see if that made Arthur feel better but his eyes had become too difficult to open. Sound faded out again, but snatches of it drifted back to him in the dark, and it was Arthur's voice. There was the sensation of being lifted, of moving, and there were flares of wrongness in his midsection. They were dull, not yet pain, but he wished Arthur would stop.

"Let me go," he tried to say, but he couldn't speak.

The next he knew he was lying in the forest, and Gaius and Arthur were speaking a few feet away.

"The wound…dire, no mortal…dragon's breath…"

"…how long… I can't…Merlin, dammit, I…no choice?..."

"…the Sidhe… sire, he hasn't got…"

The snippets were confusing, and quickly were drowned out by a blooming agony in his chest. Involuntarily, he moaned, and the conversation stopped.

"Merlin?" Gaius's face swam into his line of sight.

"I did it," he breathed, and screwed his eyes shut against the harsh light of the sun. "I changed it. It'll be okay."

"I'm taking you to Avalon," it was Arthur speaking, now. "The Sidhe will help us. They have to. I'm not letting you die." He turned back to Gaius. "Take this to Camelot." He took off his signet ring. "Give it to Gwen. Tell her I'm safe. She'll keep the place running until we get back."

"Of course, sire." The physician smiled down at Merlin, but he suddenly looked older, weary. "I'll have your favorite dinner waiting for you when you get back."

"Goodbye, Gaius," Merlin reached out, feeling for the familiar hand. It grasped his, and he squeezed it as best he could, and there was so much he tried to express with the gesture. _Thank you_ , he wanted to say. _I love you. I'll miss you_. Gaius squeezed back, and Merlin knew that the physician had understood. "Goodbye," he repeated as Gaius mounted his horse, and even though he was no longer afraid of dying, he felt a surge of sorrow that he would never see the man again.

"We'll camp here for the night," Arthur said, shading his eyes against the setting sun. Merlin settled back onto his makeshift pillow of saddlebags. A pang of fear, stronger than the thudding ache in his midsection, overtook him.

He needed to tell Arthur the truth.

He hadn't thought of using magic to save the king from Mordred; as many years as he had spent keeping his sorcery a secret, the idea had never crossed his mind. But now there was a cold settling into his bones and he wanted so desperately to be free of his burden. He wanted Arthur to see him, just once, for who he was—who he truly was. Magic was a part of him. It was woven into every fiber of his being and Arthur was his best friend. He couldn't hate him.

_Stupid._

"Arthur?" The king was dabbing away at the blood staining his chest, and even with as much gentleness as he could muster Merlin still flinched.

"Quit being such a girl, Merlin. I don't know what you're whining about, this isn't even that bad." His tone was light, albeit strained.

"I need to tell you something." The adrenaline and anxiety coursing through his body doused his chest in cold flame but he didn't stop. "Camlann, Arthur, the lightning… It was me."

Arthur's head snapped up and his brow was furrowed, but it cleared after a moment.

"Don't be daft, Merlin, that was the sorcerer."

"Arthur." Suddenly Merlin realized he was struggling not to cry. His jaw quivered with the effort of keeping his lips from dragging downwards and traitorous tears spilled from his eyes.

"You…" Arthur pulled back, his head half-turning away from Merlin. "No."

"I'm so sorry, Arthur…" He couldn't hold back, not anymore as the expression on the king's face became one of understanding—not the calm understanding Merlin had dreamt of but a betrayed, disgusted understanding. "Arthur, please listen—"

"You lied to me," Arthur's hands, still streaked in blood, were semi-raised as if he had been touching something foul. "All these years."

"I couldn't… I wanted to tell you, I tried, Arthur—" He was sobbing. Every shake tore down his chest like fire but it felt right, felt deserved, because Arthur was backing away, shaking his head with a dull but increasing anger.

"I trusted you." Arthur couldn't even look at Merlin, his fingers still splayed like they were dirty. "You're a sorcerer."

"I was only trying to keep you safe, you're my best friend, please—"

"You're a liar," he said, and there was disgust. Arthur walked away, and Merlin was left alone in the clearing. The sound of bitter sobs was quiet, ashamed, and permeated by two words spoken in hitching gasps.

"I'm sorry… _"_


	7. Little Voice

At some point during the night, Merlin woke to find Arthur returned. He was staring into the flames of the campfire, and there was a hard line to his jaw that made him look weary.

"I didn't think you'd come back," Merlin said quietly, and Arthur didn't turn.

"I didn't think I would, either." He paused, seeming to steel himself for something. "You saved my life."

Merlin smiled, a hopeful, fragile smile, and then Arthur continued.

"For that, I owe you a debt. I'll take you to Avalon. After that, we're even. We're done."

The words cut deeper than Mordred's blade and Merlin bit his lip, feeling the sharp sting of unwanted tears welling in his eyes again. His vision blurred but he willed them with all of his might to stay there, unseen.

"We leave at first light. Get some sleep." The words were harsh, uncaring. Merlin stared down at his hands, and he couldn't speak, and so he swiped at his eyes and settled back onto the packs.

The next morning Arthur shook him awake, and as Merlin opened his eyes he saw a flash of concern dissipate from the king's face. When it was replaced by the same coldness as the night before Merlin wondered if he hadn't imagined it after all. As Arthur lifted and secured him to his horse Merlin thought to himself how he felt none of the relief he'd always pictured he would feel after telling his friend the truth. Instead he felt alone, hideous, a terrible monster. A sorcerer.

He remembered his youth in Ealdor marred by a loneliness that playing with Will or the other children never seemed to fix. He went to bed every night feeling empty, and after he'd found Gaius, he honestly believed that the worst was over. But now, riding in silence, Merlin finally understood that that sort of loneliness had been depthless. He had had a friend, a man he would have followed through a thousand nightmares, but he had lost him. And while he would still follow Arthur anywhere, Arthur wouldn't have him.

They were riding through a plain and Merlin had drifted to sleep. It was dreamless, a mercy he felt he didn't deserve. Suddenly he was woken by his horse jolting to a stop, and he opened his eyes to find Arthur's hand on the reins.

"Not a word," he warned, pulling a blanket off of Merlin's shoulders which the sorcerer didn't remember falling asleep with. Arthur wrapped it around himself like a cloak and Merlin struggled to push himself up, questioning.

There was a small band of soldiers approaching them, and as they neared, Merlin recognized them as Morgana's mercenaries. It was obvious Arthur recognized them, too. They had probably left Camlann, their mistress gone missing, and were looking for some other form of profit.

"What do we have here?" One of them, the leader, called jovially. He put a hand out to the side of Arthur's horse.

"My friend's sick. We're heading towards the Western Isles, to find a cure."

"You're not one of Arthur's men?" the mercenary was beaming, but there was a gleam in his eyes, and he lifted the hem of Arthur's blanket at the exact moment that the king reached for his sword. Merlin didn't see exactly what happened next because someone came up behind him and pulled him from his horse. His head struck the ground and spots of darkness danced across his vision, and instinctively his arms shot out, and the mercenaries were thrown a dozen feet away. His midsection was pulsing, and he rolled onto his side, groaning.

"You killed them," Arthur said blankly, some inflection of dark surprise in his voice. "All of them."

"They would have killed us," Merlin whispered. Arthur's face swam into his vision, and the expression there was bleak.

"The horses are gone."

"Arthur…"

"We've got to get going. We've only got two days—"

"Until I die." Merlin forced himself to sit up, taking a heady, shaking breath.

"Gaius said there are shards of Mordred's sword in your chest. That they're killing you." Arthur cleared his throat and offered Merlin a hand, and they began shambling towards the tree line. "But we'll make it."

Merlin didn't answer, watching his feet as they walked. At some point he lost consciousness and drifted into a fitful sleep, and as he slept, there was a voice in the back of his head. It spoke softly, but it was pervasive.

**_Do you even want to go to Avalon?_** It asked, and it took him longer than it ought to have to think of an answer.

_Of course. Arthur needs me._

**_Arthur hates you._ **

_I can still protect him. He doesn't have to know._

**_You've done so much already. You've fulfilled your destiny. Arthur was crowned king. He survived Camlann. He will create Albion. He doesn't need you._ **

_Stop it. Go away._

**_You won't feel alone anymore._ **

"Go away," he repeated, only aloud. Arthur said something but Merlin wasn't listening, and then the king lifted him and it hurt.

**It would be so easy. Just let go. Just sleep.**

"Stop, please," he whimpered, and this time, when Arthur spoke, he heard him.

"Look, unless you want to walk to Avalon," he was saying, and Merlin stiffened.

"I don't care about Avalon!" His voice was frenzied, and he fought to calm down. He was scared, scared of what he was saying and what it meant but he couldn't deny it. Not now, not anymore. He couldn't feel his fingers.

"Gaius said it's your last chance. Why-"

"I can't, I...I'm just tired," he murmured, and the ghost of a smile crept onto his lips. "I did everything I had to... just let me sleep, Arthur, I'm so tired..."

Yes, he would sleep, and he would see Freya, and Balinor, and Lancelot.

"When we get back home I'll give you a day off."

"An entire day?"

"Two," Arthur said, and then his voice faded away. Merlin felt his legs growing cold.

When he next woke Arthur was speaking again. Merlin was tempted to ask if the king ever stopped talking, but he kept his eyes closed.

"Shuddup... clotpole."

"You know, after all that talk about notching my belt, I do believe that you've gotten fatter."

"I'd still...beat you, in a footrace." The banter was nice. Familiar. It was almost like the last few days had never happened, and so Merlin plunged on. "Thank you."

"For what? Carting your idiot self around because you went and got into trouble?" There was fear in Arthur's voice.

"It has been... an honor, sire. You are the greatest king... that Camelot has ever known, and I-I... I'm so happy I..."

It was getting difficult to speak. The coldness had overtaken the fire in his chest and he felt like he was falling, numb, and there was nothing. And it was okay.


	8. Side Effects

If this was death, it wasn't half as peaceful as Merlin had hoped it would be.

He was vaguely aware of what was happening around him. It was not in the sense that he could hear Arthur screaming, or feel the lapping pull of the lake tide, or anything similar; he simply knew of them. They were distant, meaningless. But then there was something that wasn't distant. It was close, too close, and familiar, and it tore him out from where he hid, deep in himself.

"Go," he cried. "I command you, Kil…"

"Not this time," Kilgharrah's voice broke through the dark.

"No, please, I don't want…" The dragon had to understand. He wanted to sleep. He didn't want to be saved, not at such a cost. "Go, you must… Kilgharrah, please…"

"It will be my pleasure."

_**Dragon, you must go. I command you, go. Kilgharrah, go.** _

Kilgharrah had never been able to disobey before, not even when he desperately wanted to, but now Merlin's words were powerless and it was agony.

"Please," he said again, the dragontongue forgotten, and a feeling of warmth emanated from Kilgharrah. It was comforting, content, but it grew and it was hot. It was fire. It felt like the magic that had always lingered, just behind Merlin's eyes and fingers and heart, only it was too strong and it was burning. He felt like he had melted, awash in the heat, without form or figure. The aura that was Kilgharrah was drifting away and leaving him to burn. He tried to scream but he had no lips, no voice, and—

Just as suddenly as it started, it stopped. The flames had been smothered by an inky blackness and it was engulfing him, dragging him down into its depths, and he was too tired to fight against it and—

There was a new aura, shining a pale yellow amidst the shadows. It was light and it was familiar and Merlin struggled towards it and –

He awoke.

Arthur was hugging him, speaking, and it sounded… right. Familiar.

"Does this mean you're not going to banish me?" He asked.

"No," Arthur said. And for a moment, nothing else mattered. Merlin smiled, but then his brow furrowed, and a wave of pain overtook him. Arthur was talking, and it was loud, too loud, and the sun burned his eyes.

"I need to get to Gaius," Merlin tried to keep the panic out of his voice. He knew vaguely what Kilgharrah had done, but only just—and he had no idea if it was supposed to hurt this bad. They began walking towards Camelot but it was slow, too slow. The pressure in his head was getting worse, coupling with a pressure under his skin. It felt like his bones were trying to force themselves free and he was becoming stretched, paper thin and about to break. Every sound was an agony, even Arthur's voice.

"Merlin," the king said, and Merlin realized he had been speaking.

"What." He didn't mean to be short but he couldn't help it.

"When you said… when you told me you were tired—"

"I was delirious, Arthur. It didn't mean anything." Merlin cut in before Arthur could say much else. He felt ashamed for the things he'd been thinking, especially now that Kilgharrah had given his life to allow him to keep his own. The last of the great dragons, dead, because of a sorcerer who didn't want to live anyways.

"I don't want to hear that ever again," Arthur said decisively, and Merlin paused, wondering if he should speak. But the pain in his head was too great and he couldn't stop himself.

"Do you have any idea how alone I felt? Every day. Can you imagine realizing that your best friend could never know who you were, because if he did, he would hate you?"

"I don't hate you, Merlin. I could never hate you."

"You hate magic," Merlin plunged on. "Magic is a part of me. And when we get back to Camelot…"

_You'll have to banish me,_  he thought. _Or execute me._

"We're a while away from Camelot yet."

Things felt okay for a few miles after that. The pain had become almost manageable; it was incessant, but tolerable. For a few minutes, he actually thought it was going away.

Suddenly, his legs fell out from under him and he collapsed under the weight of his own bones, which swelled against his skin. He couldn't stop himself; he screamed. The fire from the dragon's magic was back, stabbing at his entire body, and he could feel his muscles tightening and loosening as they seized against it.

There was a voice somewhere, panicked, muffled, and Merlin tried to call out when he realized his teeth were clamped together so hard he thought they would break.

"Gaius," he choked out, and someone screamed. It sounded animalistic, a terrible howl of agony. "Get Gaius."

Arthur wasn't moving and he was going to die right there in the clearing and there was no  **time-**

" **GO!** " he yelled, and something welled up from deep in his chest, a surge of power he'd never felt before. Arthur was blown backwards and as he ran away, Merlin glimpsed a look of fear on his face.

"Please," he sobbed, and there was quiet.


	9. Morgana

As he lay in the clearing, Merlin watched a small bug climbing over a leaf. Distantly, he observed that the insect was at least 30 yards away, and yet he could count each individual spot on its back. He would have been confused, even curious, but the pain had only abated enough for him to stop screaming. Instead, he rocked slightly, his arms wrapped about himself as tightly as he could muster. An occasional moan broke the silence—or rather it broke the silence for a casual observer, but for Merlin, the world was  **loud**. The leaf groaned as the insect scuttled across it. There was a squirrel in a tree several feet to his left, and its heartbeat was fast, nervous. And he could smell it, too: smell the musk of its fur, and the nut it had just buried. And he could smell the trail Arthur had left, a trail of sweat and fear.

It was getting dark outside, and quite probably cold, but his skin still burned. The tip of his nose, if he crossed his eyes, was dimly lit by a golden glow which he could only assume came from his eyes.

"What did you do to me, Kilgharrah?" Tentatively, Merlin rolled onto his back and breathed out slowly, deeply. The stars were half-hidden, visible through gaps in thick clouds which warned of rain. Somehow the sight of them calmed him, but only for a moment. Arthur would be gone for days, maybe even a week, and even turning onto his side had felt like a terrible chore.

He paused in his musings, turning his head to frown into the tree line. He hadn't tried using his magic since Avalon. He had no idea if it would work in his current state, but with Arthur gone, he had no way to fend for himself.

_"Ongebringan_ ," he murmured, hesitantly raising his hand towards a stick on the opposite end of the clearing. A surge of pain brought the taste of bile to his mouth, but he ignored even this as the stick rose with disconcerting speed and splintered, disintegrating in thin air. His magic was there, but it had been amplified too greatly for him to control.

" _Ongebringan_ ," Merlin tried again, gritting his teeth and forming fists with his hands. There were spots of darkness in his vision, but he still saw another stick levitate and then shoot across the clearing so fast it was barely observable before it buried itself in the trunk of a nearby tree.

" _ **Ongebringan**_ ," he panted, but his eyes had shut before the third stick had even begun to rise.

When he awoke some hours later, it was the dead of night. The clouds had multiplied, blotting out the moon and most of the stars, and Merlin could see better than he had the day before. Everything was pale, in different shades of grey, and he could still count every knot and whirl in the surrounding trees' branches. He could also see the striations in a stick lying across his chest.

In his fever-addled state it took Merlin far longer than it ought to have to remember what it was that had knocked him out in the first place.

_"Forbearnan_." A torrent of flame burst from his hand, a blazing column which jetted almost a hundred feet into the sky. It was still far too powerful, and painful, but still he smiled.

He didn't remember falling asleep, but it was almost mid-day when he opened his eyes again. His pupils shrank to slits against the sun and a blinding headache which had seemingly been dormant while he slept woke up with him. Something had roused him, something important, but he forgot it in a flurry of panic. He had swept his arm over his face, to shield his eyes, and had seen a mass of bruises on the side he'd been sleeping on.

His breath coming in shaky pants, he lifted both arms so that he could see the undersides.

They were mottled with ugly patches of black and purple and blue, the edges phasing into an unhealthy, shining green. The surrounding skin was almost translucent in its paleness, colored with delicate veins like spiderwebs. Feeling sick, Merlin gently pressed his fingertip into his wrist. There was barely enough pressure for him to register, and yet when he pulled away he saw the darkening tones of a rapidly forming bruise. The skin had felt papery-thin.

Gently he settled his arms back onto his chest and tried to get his breathing back under control. He shut his eyes, about to drift back to sleep, when he realized with a start what had woken him in the first place. A scent. Familiar.

Morgana.


	10. Fire

She was a ways off yet, but her scent was instantly recognizable. It was that of a decaying flower, only not as cloying; it had been shrouded with the musty smell of the earth, with the acrid tang of fear, and most of all, with the fiery, overbearing scent of anger.

"Emrys," she called, and it was a song, made harsh by hatred. "Oh, Emrys…"

_Has there not been enough bloodshed already?_

Morgana giggled.

"Oh, no. No, no, Emrys. It has barely begun."

She was getting closer and Merlin wrapped a hand around the stick which was still lying across his chest, using it to drag himself towards the tree line.

"You cannot run from me," her voice in Merlin's head was a hiss, all traces of playfulness gone. "You have taken everything from me." There was a pause. "Tell me, Merlin. Where is your precious Arthur?"

_Safe._  Merlin tried to sound defiant, but even as he thought the words, his heart fell. Farther away than the sounds of Morgana's approach, and in the opposite direction, he heard horses. It was too distant for Morgana to notice, but the horses were moving fast.

"A pity. I wanted you to watch him die."

Merlin had reached the edge of the clearing and turned, meaning to hide his tracks, but just then the sorceress stepped into the clearing.

"Oh, Morgana. What happened to you?" Even as vulnerable as he felt, Merlin couldn't help but feel terrible pity for a woman who had once seemed so strong, so regal. Her face was dirtied, and long-dried tears had cut paths down her cheeks. She looked decades older.

"You have stolen… **everything** …that was ever mine," Morgana seemed to be on the edge of tears. "I have no home, no family. My throne… Camelot was mine. My men have all deserted me, and Mordred…"

"Morgana—"

" **You don't get to speak**!" Her eyes flashed gold as she shouted, and there was a pressure about his neck, hoisting him to his feet and against a tree. The outer edges of his vision darkened.

"I don't want…to fight you."

"It's too late for that!" Morgana's hand was outstretched, and as she drew her fingers together, the pressure increased. "I told you. You took everything from me… and I have nothing left. I have nothing to lose!" She laughed, and the sound froze Merlin's blood. "My heart cannot be broken, for it has already been burnt out of my chest. My soul cannot be sold, because it's as black as yours. I have no love to lose, no hell to fear. I will not stop until Camelot is mine, and until the last of the Pendragons is nothing but ash. And Emrys… If only I could save you for last."

The sound of the horses was getting louder. Merlin could identify four different scents—Arthur, Percival, Leon… and Gaius. He had wanted so desperately not to hurt Morgana, not now, not when he couldn't control his magic, but he couldn't justify putting the physician in danger. If he waited any longer, the sorceress would hear the approaching party, and he would probably be dead before he could protect them.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

He wasn't planning it. He could barely think; his head was pounding from the lack of air. He opened his mouth for a spell.

A jet of flame escaped the moment his lips parted, and for a moment Merlin was completely dumbfounded as it billowed around Morgana's form. There was a horrible, broken scream and the pressure which had kept him aloft disappeared, and he fell. The hard impact jarred him to his senses and he crawled towards her, his eyes widened in terror. He felt no heat but she was still screaming, thrashing in agony. There was a strange scent in the air.

**" _Acwence þa bælblyse_**!" The fire stopped as soon as it begun and Merlin began to sob in huge, panicked gasps as he surveyed the smoldering, quivering form.

"A…a…" There were no lips, merely a parting in the face. "A…"

"Morgana, I'm s-so sorry… I didn't mean to, I d-didn't know…"

She didn't seem to hear him. "A…a…"

"J-Just hang on, Gaius is coming. It'll be okay, I swear, I'm so sorry, oh,  _gods_ , I'm so sorry—"

"Ait-t… A…t…" The eyelids opened with a terrible crackling sound and the eyes underneath almost made Merlin throw up. The whites were red, and almost flattened, and the iris had become a misshapen orb of milky, unseeing blue. As he watched, the blue flashed a weak gold. "A-Aithusa…"

There was the sound of wings, distant but approaching with unbelievable speed.

Arthur and his group sprinted into the clearing as the white dragon grabbed Morgana as best she could and flew away. Merlin watched until his vision faded into black. And for a moment, mercifully, he knew no more.

 


	11. Resurrection

"It's not far up ahead," Arthur was calling over his shoulder, when the sound of screaming broke out from somewhere in front of him. All traces of exhaustion left his body then. It wasn't Merlin's voice. It didn't even sound human. "We've got to hurry." He urged his horse to speed up and she protested, and not without reason; they had barely rested since leaving Camelot. There was foam flecked over her muzzle, and a quick look showed the same on the other three horses.

The scream cut off, and was replaced by Merlin's voice—too distant to make out the words, but not far enough to hide a panic that was contagious. And when the cries were followed by a stillness, Arthur began to kick at his horse's sides in a frenzy.

"Sire—" Gaius was protesting, and Arthur could sense his horse slowing down, and Merlin was close enough that Arthur could hear him sobbing, and he dismounted and began to run. There was a smell in the air—a hellish combination of sulfur and charcoal and copper. It smelled like someone was burning.

The odor grew stronger and Arthur burst through the last of the trees. A white dragon lifted a mangled body and flew away, just a few yards ahead, and it took him several moments to realize that the twisted, smoking form was Morgana. He tore his eyes away to find Merlin, slumped to the ground. The physician was already kneeling over him.

"Merlin?" Gaius was speaking softly, lifting one of the sorcerer's eyelids.

"How…" Arthur had been about to ask after his friend's welfare when he had caught sight of the bruises. Against the pale skin, they stood out with frightening clarity. There was a ring of green and blue about his neck, newly-formed, but this was almost eclipsed by the myriad of purples on his arms. Gaius lifted Merlin's shirt and sucked in a breath when he found his whole side to be the same. "Did Morgana do this?" he asked softly.

"I don't suspect so, sire. At least not all of it." The old man rested two fingers on Merlin's wrist, as if to take a pulse, and when he pulled away there were two rapidly darkening bruises. "His skin is like parchment."

"Why?" Percival stood a ways back, a look on his face that Arthur couldn't quite make out.

"What the king described to me sounded like something called  _emἀνæγρnσιc_." Gaius motioned for Leon to bring him the pack he'd brought, whereupon he pulled out an old text. "I know very little about it. Even in the time of the Old Religion, this sort of thing was beyond rare." He began flipping through the pages until he alighted on one in particular. "It means resurrection. In the legends, a dragon could become attached to its dragonlord. If the dragonlord were to die, it was said that the dragon could save their life, but at a terrible cost."

"The dragon died," Arthur said quietly, and Gaius nodded.

"Such a sacrifice had to be made of the dragon's own free will. They could not be commanded to perform  _emἀνæγρnσιc_ —"

"Or commanded not to." Arthur remembered Merlin shouting at Kilgharrah.

"Or commanded not to," Gaius repeated, and a look of sadness shadowed his face. "The dragonlords became the  _emμοναχικόs_. The lonely ones. Neither human nor dragon. They were doomed to outlive the people they loved, or worse, to be cast out by them in fear. It was as much a selfish curse as a gift, which was why it was so rarely bestowed. I cannot imagine why Kilgharrah—"

"For me," Arthur murmured, looking down at Merlin. A wave of guilt washed over him.

_You will create the future you were destined to, Arthur Pendragon, but you cannot succeed without Merlin. It is his destiny to protect you._

"So what's going to happen to him?" Leon had apparently left to find kindling, as he returned to the clearing with his arms full of small sticks. Arthur realized it was dusk.

"I have no experience in this, sire," Gaius told the king lowly. "As I said, I have only the slightest knowledge of  _emἀνæγρnσιc_. But as best I can tell, he's changing. I don't know how. I don't know why. I don't know what to do." There was an edge in the physician's voice that Arthur almost didn't recognize. It was helplessness. "The most we can hope for right now is to bring down his fever and make him comfortable. Beyond that… I'm afraid it's up to Merlin."

 


	12. Awakening

Percival was woken a little before dawn by a low, keening cry, and he lifted his head to find the source.

"I'm right here, my boy," Gaius was murmuring. Merlin was lying next to him, his head snapping from one side to the other. "It will pass."

For a moment Percival hesitated, wondering if he should just pretend to be asleep.

Of all the knights, Gwaine had been the fondest of Merlin. The two were a funny pair—Gwaine lived in the tavern, but Merlin hardly drank; Gwaine loved to fight, and Merlin was a pacifist (or a coward, in Arthur's words); Gwaine lived in the pursuit of women, and Percival had always wondered if Merlin had ever taken a lover. And yet… the barkeep knew to send for Merlin if Gwaine was too drunk to make it home. If Merlin was in danger, Gwaine was the first to be up in arms—even before Arthur. Percival knew he should be the one to tell Merlin about his friend, but he didn't have the heart. He had decided to wait until the servant was better, and even though he knew he had done everything he could for Gwaine, seeing Merlin made him feel ashamed.

"Any change?" Percival hesitantly asked Gaius while staying back a respectful distance.

"Some, but it's impossible for me to tell if those changes are for good or for ill." The physician sighed, lifting Merlin's arm and sliding down the sleeve. "Look."

The clouds from the night before had multiplied instead of dissipating, and the only illumination came from the fire Sir Leon had built. In its flickering orange glow, it became instantly apparent that Merlin's skin was… different. Where there had been a mass of bruising only hours before, there was now a wash of colorless porcelain, unblemished save for an iridescent patch which swept partially up his forearm from the base of his wrist.

"What  _is_  that?" His guilt forgotten, Percival took a step closer. From a distance, the patch had caught the light of the fire and shone in various purples and blues like the feathers of a raven; up close, however, he realized it was black, and composed of a number of fragments. "Are those…"

"Scales," Gaius confirmed softly. "I fear they're getting larger, and more numerous."

"Gaius, if he changes into a dragon… what happens then?" Percival stared down at the familiar face. The deep hollows in his cheeks and under his eyes were dark.

"I don't know," Gaius said, and he looked exhausted.

"You should rest," the knight didn't break his gaze from Merlin. "Just for a little. I'll watch him."

It was obvious the physician wanted to protest, but he seemed to think better of it.

"Wake me the moment something changes," he warned, and began to shamble away. "And Percival…" Gaius turned back. "Thank you."

"He's my friend," Percival offered him a small smile, and Gaius nodded before retreating.

He waited until he was certain Gaius had fallen asleep before speaking.

"Hey," he said, and he reached out to nudge Merlin's shoulder. Instinctively he recoiled. The skin was as hard as stone. "Merlin, I know you can hear me. I need you to… I need you to hear me. I have to tell you—" Percival broke off and shook his head, trying to clear it. An image of Gwaine had crept into his mind and he couldn't send it away.

_"I failed," Gwaine said, and his eyes were dull. Defeated. And Percival wasn't fast enough, he couldn't find the right words and so Gwaine died thinking he was a failure. He died without knowing he was a hero._

"Stop it," he murmured to himself, and passed his hands over his face. "Merlin, Gwaine is dead. I couldn't protect him. I'm so…" Percival's voice died away.

In the time that he'd been thinking about Gwaine, the scales had multiplied. Merlin was now almost entirely covered with them. They stopped at his neck, just below his jaw, but even as Percival watched, the skin on his cheekbones was darkening.

Merlin's eyes opened.

Percival was not expecting the brilliant flash of gold, abnormal even for a sorcerer, and his mouth went dry.

"Gaius!" He scrambled to his feet, even as Merlin staggered to his own. "Merlin, can you—"

Merlin sprinted away.

In the sky, there were the first rumblings of thunder. The promised storm had arrived, and as the rain began to fall, it grew colder.

 


	13. Emrys

Arthur didn't mean to fall asleep, but once they'd set up camp, his body suddenly seemed to remember that he hadn't really rested in days. He passed out before Leon had even gotten the campfire going. As his eyes slid shut, he mentally promised himself he wouldn't sleep long.  _Just a few minutes. Just a quick nap, and then—_

_" **MERLIN!"**_

He woke with a start. Around him, everyone was in a panic. He caught a glimpse of Percival, whose voice he had heard, disappearing into the trees. Leon took off after the other knight.

"Gaius! What—"

"It's Merlin, sire!" Gaius helped the king to his feet and started following the other two members of their party as fast as he was able. Arthur took his arm, speeding him along.

"Did someone take him? I don't—"

His words were drowned out by a low, growling sound, as if someone were taking in a deep breath. It reverberated through the trees, but before the last echoes of it could die away, it was followed by a greater and more terrible noise. It was a roar unlike any Arthur had ever heard. The sound of it shook the very forest and it was violent, powerful and raw, but it also sounded… lonely.

"I'll catch up. Go!" Gaius urged him on and Arthur began to run.

* * *

_He was dreaming. Drowning in a sea of gold. The water was pushing in on him from all sides, swallowing him whole, and as he struggled to stay afloat he caught sight of his fingers, paddling desperately on the surface. The gold was attaching itself to him, crawling up his skin._

_"_ Ic þe healte!"  _Merlin cried, but it didn't stop. It crept up his neck and over his face and he was suffocating._

His eyes opened but the dream wasn't over. It couldn't be, because when he brought his hands up to his face, he found his arms to be covered in blackness. Something was happening to him, something terrible, and he opened his mouth to try to speak and found that he had no words. His mind was hazy.

_This is no dream._

Whatever Kilgharrah had done… it was in its final stages. He had to get away, because he didn't know what was happening but he was having difficulty recalling names—

_Gwaine, gods, **no—**_

faces—

_I can't remember him, why can't I—_

words. He was losing himself and he was terrified that he would hurt someone like he hurt…a woman, he'd hurt a woman he once loved and there were others in the camp that he loved and he had to leave. So he ran as the first drops of rain began to fall, and the sound of it pinging off of his scales drove him even faster. Merlin began to think less and less. He was being followed and that was bad, it felt bad and then with no warning he was dying. It felt like something inside of him was exploding and then everything was black as he roared.

* * *

Two scents. Two men, staring at him with huge and wary eyes. He roared again and one of them, the larger, took a half-step back.

" _꜡ⱷⱵⱴⱶ꜠_!"

They were speaking to him but he couldn't understand, and he bared his teeth at them, a single and generous warning.

The smaller man was moving slowly, making a show of dropping an item dangling from his side, but Emrys didn't understand this either and he advanced, his hackles raised.

" _MⱷⱵⱴⱶn_?" Another figure emerged from the trees and Emrys paused. For a moment it felt like he knew the word, and more than that, he knew the man. The scent was comforting. Calming. What was the word?

The man was still speaking softly, walking forwards with a hand outstretched. Emrys snorted, backing away slightly.

" _Mⱷrlⱶn_." He held his hand out in front of Emrys for a moment before touching his snout gently. "Merlin, I'm here."

"Arthur," Emrys tried to say, but he didn't know the words and he thought them instead. Arthur jerked back.

"What is it?" The smaller man stepped forward in concern and it was Leon.

"You didn't hear him?" Arthur had broken into an almost drunken smile. "He knows me."

* * *

"It's Merlin. He's still in there," Arthur breathed, staring at the creature in front of him.

The black dragon stared back at him with eyes that glowed gold, pupil-less, in the night. He was small, the king supposed; standing on four legs, he was only two or three feet taller than himself. Its face was narrow, slender like the rest of its form, and framed by beardlike whiskers and a long pair of horns which swept downwards. The body was smooth, graceful, and feline in most respects, including the ridged tail which sprawled over the forest floor. The most impressive of all, though, were the wings. They towered above the clearing, elegant and tinged faintly gold.

As Arthur watched, the dragon's eyes began to change, just slightly. They were no longer an empty glow, but instead developed the catlike slits that Arthur had seen in his friend's eyes after he'd awoken at Avalon.

Gaius arrived then, stopping next to Leon and Percival. He had been breathing heavily but when he saw his ward, the sounds stopped.

"Does he…" Arthur had never heard the physician speechless before.

"I think he's the same," the king gestured to Gaius, who slowly joined him. "I don't think he can speak. Not aloud."

_Gaius?_

Merlin's voice half-echoed in Arthur's mind, and the king looked to Gaius, expecting an expression of joy at the sound. There was nothing.

"He can talk to you?" Gaius reached out with a trembling hand, and the dragon dipped its head, rubbing at the physician's touch.

"In my head," Arthur paused. "Why just me?"

"Your destinies have always been intertwined. I suspect that that bond is the culprit," Gaius murmured, a happy smile on his face even as tears began to well in his eyes. "Oh, my boy."

_Tell him I'm okay. That I feel fine._

"He says—"

"That he's okay. I know." Gaius nodded, pushing a wet strand of hair from his face. The rain had increased from a light drizzle to a downpour, and the dragon nudged at the old man with his snout, pushing him towards the shelter created by his wings.

* * *

One by one, the small party of men fell asleep beneath his wing. Emrys sat, his tail curled over his claws, and glanced upwards. The sky was dark, the moon obscured, but there was a solitary hole in the gloom through which a handful of stars shone.

_Can't sleep?_

It was Arthur's voice in his mind this time and Emrys looked down. The king was sitting and looking for the stars, too.

"You're in my head, too? Is nothing sacred?" He was thrilled when he felt himself laughing—a deep laugh which rumbled through his whole body. Human.

_Apparently not. You've become taller than me._

"And stronger."

_That remains to be seen._

The mirth faded and Arthur must have sensed it.

_Merlin… I need to apologize. I never—_

"Don't. You had every right to react like you did."

_I just… You can't lie to me again. Please. I trust you more than anyone. No more lies, and no more secrets._

"Then I should tell you…"

_What **now**?_

"You're not as good a fighter as you think you are. Or as lucky. Did you honestly think branches fell out of trees that often? Naturally?"

_Merlin?_

"Yes, sire?"

_Shut up._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Just as a heads up, I'm going to be out of town for the next two weeks and won't be able to post any new chapters after this weekend. I haven't forgot about you guys, promise, and I'll post as soon as I get back (or you can read ahead at https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11242221/1/The-Dragon-of-Avalon.


	14. Old Friend

It was late. Or early, rather; the knights would be waking up soon, and still Emrys hadn't slept. He hadn't dared to, because although he had enjoyed the blissful and pain-free night, he felt… transient. Not quite whole. It was hardly noticeable; in fact, it had taken him hours to even register that something had felt off—besides sprouting two wings and a tail, of course. But after Arthur had fallen asleep there were no distractions and all at once Emrys was distinctly aware of a strange feeling deep in his chest.

He had died on the banks of Avalon. There was a dull fear when he conjured the memory and he shoved it aside viciously, habitually, but the fact remained that he had died and come back and changed. In the space of a few days he had been killed and brought back to life as a dragon, and for the first time, Emrys began to wonder if some part of him hadn't gotten left behind. He felt tired—not in the way that he should have been, not fatigued, but strained. Like he was Atlas, holding the world on his shoulders. And yet the strain was less pronounced than it had been just after he changed. The burden felt lighter.

_Merlin._

Emrys snorted in surprise, rearing back against an unbidden voice in his head. It wasn't Arthur's.

"Kilgharrah?" he breathed.

_For a little while_ , the voice purred, and Emrys felt a surge of grief-muted happiness to hear his friend _. Merlin, you must listen carefully._

_"_ Kilgharrah, I'm so sorry you had to—"

_No, it is I that should apologize. I have done you a necessary but terrible wrong, my friend. The life of the emμοναχικόs will be difficult even for you._

"Lonely," Emrys translated, his voice a murmur.

_You will walk a line between dragonkind and the human race. A very thin line, for the rest of your life, and at times it will seem so easy to step one way or the other. This you can never do._

"I don't understand."

_You will find that as time passes in your draconic form, it will become harder and harder to change back._

"I can… How do I… change?"

_There are no spells or incantations for magic as ancient as this. Simply put, you must focus on shifting. It will be difficult at first, but it will get easier._

"And if I don't change in time? How do I know when—"

_You can feel it now, can't you? That pull in your gut?_

The dragon's words cut like ice.

_I don't remember what my name used to be, or why I didn't change back, but I think… I think it was the aloneness._

"You were…"

_Human. Yes… I'd forgotten..._  The voice was introspective, musing… and sad _. If only I'd met you sooner, young warlock._

Emrys could feel the dragon leaving. "Wait! Kilgharrah, I need you. You can't—"

_When you need me, I'll be here._ A pause, loaded with a thousand questions Emrys didn't know how to pose and a thousand things Kilgharrah wanted to say and couldn't remember.  _That idiot king will need you, young warlock, both human and dragon. Camelot will need you. Albion will need you. But Merlin… Don't lose yourself. When the time comes… Let the dragons die. Aithusa will be the last._

"Kilgharrah…" Before he could say anything else, he felt the dragon's presence burn out in his mind. There was a slight echo, like the outline of a flame on his eyelids after he'd blown his candle out and been left in darkness. He looked down at his charges, sleeping soundly in his shadow. For a moment he did nothing, trying to capture how his wings felt as the rain hammered and ran off the membrane in rivulets.

He shut his eyes.

Kilgharrah had said that there were no magic words, but Emrys wished he had some anyways. He tried to focus on shifting, like the dragon had said. Talons to fingers, tail melting away, but the images felt flat. Lifeless.

_I waited too long. Now I'm stuck, I'll be a dragon forever and I'll forget my name—_

That idiot king will need you, Kilgharrah had said. Arthur and Camelot and Albion. And just then they needed a human.

There was a strange shiver which coursed from the tip of his nose to the final plate of his tail, and his scales lifted ever so slightly in protest against it. It looked like a bird shaking water clear of its feathers, which wasn't far from the truth; rainwater billowed into the air in misting, billowing clouds, and woke all but Leon. Emrys didn't notice. He felt like he was falling asleep, and the pressure in his chest was driving him down, down into himself and into the black.

* * *

Arthur jumped, startled as a spray of icy water soaked his clothes. He looked up.

"Merlin? Is everything—" he broke off. The dragon was staring straight ahead, its eyes wide. The pupils had disappeared entirely. As he watched, the dragon shook once—a weird tremor, and then the ebony scales began to lift as the other dragon's had on the beach. Arthur's heart thudded in his chest. Kilgharrah's scales had done that because he was dying. "Merlin! Say something, what happened, I—"

"What is it?" Gaius had been roused by Arthur's shouts and his eyes widened upon seeing his ward.

"Gaius, he's dying. I can't lose him now, you have to help him!  _Please!"_

"He's not dying, sire." The physician stepped out from under the dragon's wing, impervious to the rain. His eyes were fixed overhead in an expression of awe. "He's  _changing_."

As they watched the scales began to rise, swirling around Merlin in a lazy spiral and obscuring him from view. When they at last began to part, disintegrating and blowing away like leaves, a very human Merlin was left standing in the clearing.

Well, mostly human.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So sorry for the delay. My trip got extended a week longer than expected, but hopefully I can now get back to regular updates. Thanks for the patience!


	15. The Road Back

"It worked," Merlin said, and he sounded incredulous, staring down at his hands.

"You're…"  _Human_ , Arthur wanted to say, but it wasn't true, and so he settled for "…shorter than me."

"We're the same height and you know it." He grinned and the fangs were there, flashing playfully in the dark.

The warlock's face was partially illuminated by the candescence of his own eyes, more angular than Arthur remembered.

_Dragon's eyes._

Merlin was shirtless; in fact, his clothes had probably been torn to shreds when he shifted, and had been replaced by a spray of scales which started a little below his navel. As they traveled downwards they became more concentrated, like ebony plates, resembling black pants—almost normal, aside from the fact that his legs morphed into oversized feet shaped like the back paws of a cat ( _or a dragon)_. There were swirls of scales glimmering on his right shoulder, above his heart, on his forearms, and all these details were lost on Arthur as he noticed something else.

A pair of horns protruded from the tousled crown of hair, curving downwards almost a foot.

"What is it?" Merlin had finally noticed the stunned looks on the knights' faces.

"You look a little different, my boy," Gaius said finally. He made a vague gesture above his own head and Merlin mimicked it, his hand freezing as he touched one of the horns.

"I can't go back to Camelot looking like this."

"Agreed. You look worse than you normally do." Arthur offered a small smile but nobody laughed. Merlin was holding his hands out in front his face again, his expression one of intense concentration.

"You can wear my cloak," Leon began, but it was proven unnecessary as the horns seemed to evaporate from the air above Merlin's head. The scales on his arms and chest shimmered and dissolved, and the glow dissipated from his eyes. Arthur knew it was probably the result of a spell, but all the same he felt a thrill of pleasure when his friend looked up with irises that were a very familiar shade of blue.

"Oh, gods, it's awful." He acted aghast, and Merlin scowled.

"At least I don't look like a prat."

Leon strode forwards, handing the sorcerer his cloak, which the latter gratefully wrapped over his shoulders.

* * *

She should have known it wouldn't be that easy.

Morgana had heard him scream and it had pierced through the empty cavity of her chest and she remembered feeling like she had caught fire.

_How funny, I know **exactly**  what that feels like now._

The blaze consumed her, fueled by rage and grief, and she pried the sword from Mordred's grave and held it aloft.

_"Ætíe mé þá þé ic séce,"_ she shouted, and images began to flash across the surface of the blade.

_Merlin and Arthur sitting in front of a campfire, talking. The sorcerer looked ill._

_Arthur dragging the servant into the waters of a lake. Sobbing. For a brief moment Morgana thought Merlin had died but she felt only a hollow pleasure in the thought, and then to her relief the picture changed and the boy sat bolt upright, his eyes glowing. She saw him walking back towards Camelot, haggard. She was him lying on the ground, screaming, screaming, and she had heard no greater sound in her life._

"Emrys," Morgana cast the name out, knowing that Merlin would hear her wherever he was. A trail of gold wound through the forest ahead.

She walked for most of the day, tireless. The trail was blazing brighter now. He couldn't be far off. "Oh, _Em_ rys?"

_Has there not been enough bloodshed already?_

His voice in her head was weak. Ghostly.

"Oh, no. No, no, Emrys," she crooned, as if speaking to a child. "It has only just begun."

She sensed him moving. His fear was ripe in the air and it intoxicated her. Morgana was gliding across the forest floor like a spirit, and the trees of the forest were invisible to her. There was only the line of gold. It was blinding.

"You cannot run from me," she spat. "You have taken  _everything_  from me!" The words were unbidden, quivering with rage, and she composed herself and dropped her voice to a playful murmur. "Tell me, Merlin. Where is your precious Arthur?"

_Safe._

"A pity. I wanted you to watch him die." She did not cast these words into the sorcerer's mind but instead spoke them aloud. The trail had stopped. Merlin was lying on the forest floor in front of her, his face scared as he tried to drag himself across the clearing with a stick. It was pitiful.

"Oh, Morgana. What happened to you?" The same pity she felt for Merlin was reflected in his voice and she straightened, her eyes widening in hatred and disgust.

"You have stolen… **everything** …that was ever mine." Her vision blurred as tears sprang, unbidden, to her eyes. "I have no  _home_ , no  _family_. My throne… Camelot was  _mine_. My men have all deserted me, and Mordred…"

"Morgana—"

" **You don't get to speak**!" The sound of his voice had conjured a flood of images Morgana didn't want to see. Morgause. Mordred. And perhaps worst of all, the servant's sweet, innocuous little smile as he handed her a poisoned canteen. The images  _hurt_ and they were all Merlin's fault and she didn't even realize she was choking him until she heard the strangled cry.

"I don't want…to fight you," he said.

"It's too late for that!" Morgana drew her fingers together. "I told you. You took everything from me… and I have nothing left. I have nothing to lose!" She laughed and even to her own ears it sounded manic. Hysterical.  _And why shouldn't it_? "My heart cannot be broken, for it has already been burnt out of my chest. My soul cannot be sold, because it's as black as yours. I have no love to lose, no hell to fear. I will not stop until Camelot is mine, and until the last of the Pendragons is nothing but ash. And Emrys… If only I could save you for last."

How she wanted to hear him scream. See him writhe in the dirt and the leaves. She could see her hands shaking in her peripheral. It was because she hated him, because-

_Because I loved him once._

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

There was light, and a gust of air, and it  _burned._ Oh, gods, it burned. At first she couldn't fathom that it was fire because the pain was so great and so sudden, like a bath of ice, but there was a strange, sickly sweet odor in her nose and she realized she it was the scent of her skin burning off of her flesh. She could see nothing. There were popping noises, flat under the roar of the flames, and another sound, too; she thought at first that it was Merlin screaming, but the pitch was too high. Smoke and fire alike roiled down her throat, and the only reason she knew she wasn't dead was because she could still hear her own cries. They had a hoarse quality and they tapered into keening whines and she wished they would stop, but her voice was no longer her own.

_Kill me,_ she wanted to say, but the dragon-forged sword had melded onto her thigh.

The fire had stopped but Morgana was oblivious. The pain had long since faded into numbness, but she was aware of her entire body throbbing, pulsing, and only one cogent thought passed through her mind even though her tongue was too cracked and blackened to utter a word.

_Aithusa, help me._

Her eyelids felt like they'd gotten stuck in something sticky but she forced them open anyways. There was no flash of light, no view of sky or flames, and she wondered if her eyes hadn't melted away. There was no sound. Just the smell.

_Aithusa, please, help me.._

Surprisingly, it wasn't the flesh that had been exposed to the air that hurt the most; it was the surviving skin around it, bubbling and cracked, and she could feel the nerves coming angrily to life. She wanted to shy away from the pain, writhe in agony, but the best she could manage was a sickly twitch.

**_Aithusa._ **

She felt the dragon's presence even as it lifted her from the clearing, and finally a painless blackness enveloped her.

 


	16. New Beginnings

The walls of Camelot had come into view and as he broke through the trees Arthur suddenly realized that Merlin wasn't next to him. He turned to find his friend standing at the edge of the forest, an odd look on his face.

"Well, come on, Merlin," he frowned. "We haven't got all day."

"I think it might be better if I…" He was looking away, and Arthur moved towards him.

"Merlin, nothing's changed."

"Everything's changed." He smiled wryly at his king. "I have magic."

"You've always had—"

"I have magic, and now you know about it. Tell me, Arthur, how are you going to prosecute a Druid when your manservant himself is a sorcerer?"

The king was silent for a moment. "I can change the laws."

"Can you?" Merlin stepped towards him. "Could you really change the laws you grew up on?"

"I'm the king of Camelot, Merlin, I can do whatever I—"

"Look me in the eyes and tell me you're ready for this. That your kingdom is ready for this. Magic has been outlawed for a long time, Arthur."

"I'm ready," the king said.

"I never thought I'd hear those words," Merlin said slowly. "I spent so long dreaming about them. I spent so long dreaming about the day I wouldn't have to hide who I was, and now… Now it's still the same. Everything's changed, and nothing has." For a moment he let the concealment spell slip and his eyes flashed gold. Twin shadows arched behind his back, the ghosts of wings, and then he seemed to collect himself and returned to normal.

"So why hide?" Arthur asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I can't very well—"

"My cabinet could use a magical advisor. Court Sorcerer. Hell, Royal Dragon, if it comes to that."

"Our crest is a dragon," Leon offered sagely, and Merlin stepped out of the shadows.

"You're not serious."

"I hope you don't think this means you're relieved from your duties as my manservant." Arthur warned as Merlin finally stepped out from the treeline.

"Do you expect me to save Camelot while still picking up your laundry?" The sorcerer grinned impishly, and then paused in mock thought. "Oh, wait. I've been doing that for years."

* * *

Aithusa flew as fast as she could, her wings strained from the effort of carrying a burden almost her own size. The quiet moaning had stopped some time during the night and she watched the ground carefully, desperate for some sort of shelter.

She found it just after cresting the peaks of the White Mountain. Far below lay the Valley of the Fallen Kings and she made for it, crooning softly in an attempt to reassure her wounded mistress.

Being too large to fit into Morgana's hut, Aithusa made to touch down in the clearing in front of it. She soon realized, however, that it would be difficult to land without further injuring her charge, and scouted the area for a relatively kind patch of earth. The dragon found it in a patch of downed leaves and flew directly over it, dropping Morgana about a foot above the bank. It had been the gentlest she could manage and yet as she landed few yards away she heard the sorceress screaming.

She had healed Morgana before, on the night they'd met in the Darkling Woods and several times since, but she had never attempted to heal someone as badly wounded as this. The only reason Morgana was still alive was because she was a High Priestess, and even so it was likely the sorceress would die in a matter of hours if Aithusa did nothing. She closed her eyes, dug her feet into the earth, and exhaled.

* * *

_Fire._

She was adrift in fire. Every inch of her skin burned and throbbed. There was nothing but pain and she begged the Triple Goddess to let her die, begged Merlin or Aithusa or Arthur to kill her and yet she lived. And in the midst of all her pain, she saw.

_A white dragon. It had to be Aithusa, but this dragon was enormous. Strong. It was sleek and it glittered above a battlefield hewn with fire and blood and corpses, and it seemed to be dancing through the air with its own shadow- a black dragon. It was smaller, battered, its scales almost maroon in the setting sun, and as Morgana watched, Aithusa seemed to strike a winning blow. The black dragon fell to the earth. Somewhere, she heard Arthur screaming, and his grief seemed to wash over the battleground._

The images faded into nothing as a breeze, cold as winter, blew over her mutilated skin. The fire abated.

 


	17. Homecoming

The stares as the small party walked across the square were nothing short of spellbound. Many were openmouthed; a few standing in front of market stalls dropped baskets of fruit in surprise. And then, slowly, but building like wildfire, came the applause. Merlin winced against the volume but smiled nonetheless as they lined the cobblestone road, their arms waving as they shouted and cheered. The sound was tumultuous, joyful.

_The king lives,_ they shouted.

_Long live the king._

**_Long live King Arthur._ **

The crowd stretched all the way to the palace square, and their cries grew to an unbelievable pitch as Guinevere emerged from the palace doors. She seemed for a moment as if she was trying to remain stately, standing poised at the top of the steps in a ruby-red gown.

A second passed, two, and then she was flying down the stairs, her arms outstretched. Tears ran down her face and her smile was the broadest Merlin had ever seen.

"I knew you were coming back," she whispered, hugging Arthur fiercely.

"I told you I would," he murmured back, and he swept her off of her feet, carrying her back towards the castle.

The doors shut and the cheering began to slowly die away outside.

"I suppose you'll need this again," Gwen said, holding out Arthur's signet ring before embracing him a second time. Just as suddenly, she turned and hugged Merlin tightly. "Thank you," she whispered.

"I don't—"

"She knows, Merlin," Gaius shrugged, looking relatively unabashed.

"What? How?" Arthur seemed taken aback, and Gwen smiled.

"She's smarter than you give her credit for, sire. She figured it out after Camlann."

"So how are we going to go about this?" The queen asked matter-of-factly, looking regal once more as she sat in her throne.

"I'm sorry?"

"Repealing Uther's ban on magic. It seemed best to wait until you returned."

* * *

Morgana opened her eyes to find blackness.

She sat up slowly, warily, one hand held out in front of her face. As she lowered it she found a shape on her midsection, cool against her fingertips. It made a purring noise, and she recognized the sound as Aithusa. She let the dragon sleep, raising her hands once again to feel for her face. For a moment trepidation paralyzed her but she plunged forwards, her fingers splayed.

"No," she whispered, and began to sob in dry, broken wails.

The skin was taut, almost sticky in its ridged smoothness. The base of her nose felt flared, and she found the nostrils stretched and flattened upwards against her face. The lips, too, were pulled into a permanent sneer. Her eyelids were thick, shielding sightless eyes which unbeknownst to her had taken on a milky, opaque sheen. Even her hair had been burned away in the front, and what was left took the form of frizzed tufts on the back of her head.

Aithusa had woken to her mistress's distress and felt a deep sense of guilt that she had been unable to properly heal the sorceress. She had done her best… and left the once-beautiful woman terribly scarred.

Tentatively, she nosed at Morgana's hands, meaning to comfort her, but as her head touched the woman's fingers, Morgana jerked back with a cry.

"Aithutha," she lisped, her eyes wide. "Do it again!"

Bewildered, the dragon stretched out towards the sorceress, who took her head in both hands.

When the dragon's scales had brushed her hands the first time, a flash of light had flooded her brain. The second time, she could make out images. They hurt her head; the detail was too great, too focused, but she had seen trees and the sky and a wretched creature that could only be herself. She was seeing through the dragon's eyes. The moment her fingers left the scales, the vision dissolved.

"I can  _theeee_ ," Morgana breathed, almost singing, her eyes screwed shut as she laughed.

* * *

Between Arthur, Merlin, and the small council they'd assembled to discuss Uther's ban, the queen was the most eager to set about allowing magic in Camelot. She said it was because she had realized just how big a part Merlin had played in keeping her husband alive as long as he had, but Merlin had begun to wonder if it wasn't the memory of her father's execution which drove her. She was tireless. She read every proposal and amended them, and stayed up late most nights writing some of her own.

For Merlin, the weeks since returning to Camelot were like a dream. After imagining a magical Camelot for years, the notion that it was finally happening seemed unreal. He kept expecting to wake up in his chambers, probably to Arthur yelling about something, and everything would be back to normal. He would go on hiding his magic from Arthur. He wasn't a dragon, or half-dragon, or whatever Kilgharrah had turned him into, and Morgana was still alive and angry. It didn't occur to him that she might have survived his attack. While Gwen was up writing proposals, he was awake and riddled with guilt. He often distracted himself by exploring the extent of his new powers.

His magic was even more powerful than it was before. He'd gone out into the woods one sleepless night to discover that he could uproot an entire tree with ease, only to grow a new one in its place with barely a thought. Shifting was becoming easier, too. Merlin found that he could choose how to transform—willing wings to appear from his shoulder blades, or a tail (not that he found much use in the latter). He could also conjure up scales, which he began to practice regularly. It got to the point where he was fast enough to protect himself from daggers or even arrows, often using his newly-scaled arm as a gauntlet.

On the day that Arthur finally repealed Uther's ban, he appeared on the balcony with Gwen on his left and Merlin on his right. It seemed all of Camelot had heard that the king was making an announcement and had found a spot on the cobblestone, standing elbow to elbow with their faces upturned. It was a sea of people and Merlin felt a thrill of fear in his chest.

"After much deliberation, I and a counsel of my most trusted advisors…" he paused, glancing at Merlin and Gwen each before taking a breath. "It has been decided that the laws banning sorcery and the Old Religion are hereby abolished."

There was the sound of scattered gasps, but a majority of the crowd—which had been chattering and jostling each other when the king first stepped out—had fallen still and silent.

"To that end, I, Arthur Pendragon, do install Merlin, son of Balinor, as Camelot's first Court Sorcerer and Magical Advisor to the King."

 


	18. Lazarus

Morgana spent a majority of her days in her old hut, curled into bed with a peculiar necklace twined around her fingers. It was a simple strip of leather, but at the end of it was an apple-sized pendant—flat, and with the milky sheen of an opal. It was one of Aithusa's scales. The sorceress had been loathe to take it; parting with it had been painful for the dragon, and the scale would not regrow, leaving an unprotected spot on the side of her neck. All the same it was Morgana's most prized possession. It never left her hand, because the moment she took her fingers from its lustrous surface, she was plunged into blackness. While she wore it, however, she could see the forests unfolding beneath Aithusa as she hunted for food; she could watch sunsets, and sunrises, and count the stars. And best of all, she could see the hulking towers of Camelot.

Weeks passed, even months, but Morgana didn't care. She had become patient. Obsessed. The sorceress's body was withered, weak, and so was Aithusa's, and it could take centuries but she  _would_  become strong enough to destroy Emrys. He would never grow old or die, not by any hand but her own, and neither would she. It was the thought of killing him that made her tortured existence bearable. His face was the only face she could remember with clarity, with his simpleton's smile which had so easily turned to the stony, unfeeling look of a murderer.

The longer Morgana was in contact with the scale, the deeper her bond with Aithusa became. It could have been the work of the Triple Goddess, her own subconscious sorcery, or- more likely- the dragon's magic (or even a mixture of the three), but the two began to form a link so deep they were almost as one. Morgana found that even though she had never heard Aithusa speak, they could now communicate thoughtlessly. The sorceress knew when the dragon was hungry or tired, just as the dragon sensed an unbearable need to kill the man called Emrys. This communication soon went beyond simple emotions and desires.

Morgana could control Aithusa.

It was an accident the first time. Aithusa had been hunting, and the sorceress had been "watching" from her bed, when she caught sight of a small band of knights bearing the crest of Camelot. She wanted them destroyed… and instantaneously a jet of flame hid the men from vision. Morgana shrieked at the sight of the fire and dropped the scale in fear, but not before she heard the knights screaming and felt a wave of confusion emanate from Aithusa.

_Did you do that?_

_No_ , the dragon responded, and she sounded frightened.

Morgana held the necklace out in front of her, mindlessly spinning the scale as she stared, unseeing, unblinking, into the dark.

_Did you really think you'd seen the last of me, Emrys?_

* * *

The weeks following Arthur's announcement were, for Merlin, nothing short of bizarre. There were still some members of Court who had strongly supported Uther's ways and looked at him with suspicious eyes; there were even rumors that he had bewitched the King. Far stranger, however, was the opposite. People who had once seen him as—and treated him as—nothing more than a servant now seemed reverential when they passed him in the halls.

Perhaps the only one who didn't act any differently was Arthur. Even though Merlin wasn't technically his servant any more (George was quite happy to take the job), he still threatened polishing duty every time the warlock responded too cleverly to his insults. He had an official uniform made for Merlin—a black cloak with the golden dragon of Camelot embossed on the back, but the sorcerer refused to wear it, opting instead for his usual ratty blue or red shirt with the kerchief. It also irritated Arthur that Merlin wouldn't move into the new quarters he'd had arranged, choosing to stay with Gaius in the physician's chambers.

"What did you expect?" Gwen had said quietly one night, leaning her head on his shoulder as he complained. "He spent ten years hiding his powers. Do you know how strange this must be for him?"

Arthur sighed. "But he's a member of court now, Guinevere. I can't have my Royal Sorcerer dressed like a servant."

"You did before," she murmured before planting a kiss on his cheek and sliding under the sheets.

Camelot itself began to change in the wake of the reinstitution of sorcery, and not in the anarchistic way Uther had always warned. There were occasional spots of trouble—mostly gamblers who used magic to cheat, or pranksters who overturned stalls and laughed about it from a distance. These incidents seemed to Arthur a fair price to pay as it became obvious how useful sorcery was in terms of medicine, farming, construction, and essentially every other aspect of life in the kingdom. Families on the outskirts of the citadel that once starved now had access to as much food as they needed, and far more cheaply than ever before. Illnesses and injuries which had always been considered fatal became easily treatable. The entire kingdom prospered, and saw an influx of Druid traders who were happy to teach the skills of healing or select spells to those who were particularly apt. It was truly a golden age.

It was in the midst of this golden age that a rider returned to Camelot from a routine scouting mission, a lone knight out of a party of six. He rode furiously through the marketplace and practically up the steps to the Great Hall, sagging on his horse.

"Blaise?" Arthur hurried out to meet the knight, Merlin not far behind. "What happened? Where's—"

"We were attacked, sire." Several servants helped Sir Blaise off of his mount, and he seemed to be struggling to stand upright. "They're dead. All of them."

"Who attacked you?"

"It was a… dragon, sire. A white dragon." The knight looked away. "I was in the back of the group, and it let up before it…"

"Thank you." The king's lips tightened and he gave the man a weary nod. Sir Blaise was helped towards Gaius's chambers, and Arthur turned to Merlin. "Did you hear that? A white…" He broke off. The sorcerer was rigid, staring dead ahead, and his face had become deadly pale. "What?"

"Morgana," Merlin whispered.


	19. Yin and Yang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I know it's been a while and I apologize. I've been trying to get an online shop for my art up and running, and it's kept me pretty busy.

"You know, it's still not too late for you to turn back," the sorcerer called over his shoulder conversationally, and the king sidled up next to him.

"Give it a rest, Merlin," Leon called from the back of the group. His sentiment was echoed by several of the other knights.

"You may be a sorcerer, but I'm the king." Arthur smirked. "Like I would let you face a dragon alone."

"I have before. More than once. I can handle myself."

"Dragonlord or no, I find that a little hard to believe." Arthur paused. "Besides, it's my throne Morgana's after." The warlock sobered instantly at the sorceress's name, and the king shot him a look. "It was an accident, Merlin. We all know that."

"She doesn't," Merlin said quietly, and rode on ahead.

It had been only hours since Sir Blaise had returned to Camelot, and a party had been assembled to track the dragon and her mistress. The group consisted of Arthur, Merlin, and several veteran knights—including Percival, who had hardly left the sorcerer's side since the night he had told him about Gwaine's death. It was well-intentioned, but Merlin had nonetheless grown a little irritated by the man's constant presence; he had even taken to following the warlock on herb-gathering trips into the woods, standing a few feet back with his sword drawn.

All at once, any chatter amongst the riders died away as a scent reached their noses. Merlin in particular seemed struck by it, whether on account of his heightened senses or due to his experience with Morgana. It was the smell of burnt flesh.

"It's just a little farther," Sir Blaise had joined Merlin and Arthur at the head of the group, his voice dreamy. "You can see them through the trees."

The knights lay scattered between broken branches and dead horses, their tunics red as blood where they hadn't been burned away. Several swords lay glimmering in the dirt. Sir Blaise was crying.

" _Oh drakon, anale tendai gard amasen fulakson,"_ Merlin called out the summons and he could sense a couple of the men looking at him almost fearfully. They fanned out to the edges of the clearing. " _Erkheo!"_

A minute passed.

"Are you sure you did it right?" Arthur began. "Maybe—"

" _Aithusa! E male so ftengometta tesd'hup'anankes!"_

"What are you saying?" Arthur whispered.

"I'm summoning her," Merlin said, and his voice was grim.

His words were punctuated by the sound of wings, and there was a slight clanking as the knights which had not already been holding their swords aloft drew.

* * *

Aithusa was lying morosely in front of her mistress's hut when she heard a voice in her head, one she hadn't heard in a very long time.

_Dragon, I command your presence. Alight to me._

The man was Emrys, the man Morgana hated so much. She wanted to ignore the call, but he spoke again.

_Aithusa! You must obey me._

Casting a final look towards where her mistress slept, Aithusa took to the air. It was a short flight to the sorcerer, and the dragon recognized it as the place where the men had burned.

_What have you done?_ He asked, and she lowered her head.

_It wasn't me_ , she wanted to say, but she knew no words. There was a shifting in the recesses of her mind and she realized her mistress had awoken.

_Emrys,_ Morgana spoke in Aithusa's head, and the dragon flinched against the sound, so full of hatred. She knew she should hate this man also, and yet she couldn't. Not completely.

_I command you to leave these lands,_ Emrys was saying.  _Stop this violence._

Every scale on Aithusa's body vibrated with the desire to leave. The need to listen. He had commanded her to go and she had to obey, and she tensed, her wings flaring as she prepared to fly—

_No._

The desperate need to follow the man's orders increased but Aithusa felt Morgana taking control. She was powerless.

_Did you miss me, Emrys?_

* * *

Merlin hesitated a moment before speaking when the dragon landed in front of him. Since Morgana and Aithusa had been connected, the dragon had changed. She was no longer shrunken, or twisted into painful shapes. She was massive, nearing Kilgharrah's size, and strong; powerful muscles rippled beneath the shimmering white scales, and elegant spines arched from both sides of her face.

" _Drakon, te ékanes?"_  He murmured, stepping forward. The dragon seemed unable to meet his gaze, her head lowered in shame or sadness. " _Non didlkai. Kar krissas."_

For a minute it looked as though Aithusa was listening, her eyes wide and searching. She shifted, ready to leave, and in a split second something changed.

_No_. The word echoed through Merlin's head and the voice belonged not to a dragon but to a sorceress.  _Did you miss me, Emrys?_

_"Ithi!"_ He shouted, his eyes flashing gold, but the dragon only tilted its head with a malevolent curiosity. The edges of its mouth twisted into a ghoulish imitation of a smile, far too wide and fanged. The eyes burned red.

"Get out of here!" Merlin turned back to the knights, who simply stared at him, confusion written across their features.

"Why isn't it working? I thought—"

" _It's Morgana!"_ The sorcerer spun, his eyes glowing as his body seemed to rise into the air under a wave of black. The scales twisted over his legs, his torso, his arms, and in a matter of seconds the two dragons faced each other, white and black, red and gold. There was silence in the clearing, but as the moment passed, the silence broke.


	20. Lethe

The two dragons stared at each other, heads half-lowered like dogs. Arthur felt a twinge of uneasiness. Merlin was dwarfed by the white dragon, standing at maybe half its size, and was far more slender.

_"_ My, Emrys… You certainly have changed." Aithusa's lips never moved and yet the sound of Morgana's voice echoed through the clearing.

_As have you_. Only Arthur could hear Merlin's response.

"And how sweet. You brought your boy king with you." She laughed, blinking coquettishly and taking a step towards Arthur. The black dragon snarled—a deep, rumbling sound, like thunder, and Morgana pulled back slightly. "Don't worry, Merlin, dear. His death will be quick. I only wish I could say the same for you."

Her jaws seemed to unhinge and a current of fire roiled out of her mouth and towards the knights. Merlin, impervious to the flames, stepped in front. His wings spread as shields and the blaze bounced off of the membrane, but Morgana seemed to be expecting as much. The moment the flames had left her tongue she dove forward, her front claws scrabbling for purchase amidst Merlin's scales.

The black dragon howled, staggering backwards under her weight, and Arthur could see his hind legs flexing desperately to avoid crushing the knights. Droplets of blood oozed from his shoulders, where Morgana's talons had sunken into the skin. At that moment Percival ran forwards, screaming in fury and holding his sword aloft.

" ** _FOR GWAINE!"_** He shouted, and struck against the white dragon's chest. The blade did little more than bounce off of Morgana's scales, but it was distraction enough for Merlin to free himself and stand, glowering, in front of the knights.

"Gwaine?" Morgana laughed. "Surely you don't mean the cowardly little man who betrayed your king."

Her words seemed to galvanize the black dragon, and he leapt at her with such force that several of the men standing behind him were pushed backwards. Two men ran at his flanks.

* * *

Kilgharrah had said it was a thin line.

Merlin had heard Morgana's voice and shapeshifted instantaneously, without a thought, but the more she spoke, the less he understood. There were no words, only sounds—familiar sounds, but sounds without meaning. Two of those sounds stood out in particular.

The first was a threat against the man he needed to protect, the man that called him Merlin, whose aura shone like a star. The second time was about another man. A different man, one that used to be very dear, and suddenly Emrys became aware that this priestess had killed him. He was overcome by rage. He didn't remember the man's name, or his face, but he remembered an aura not unlike Arthur's—bright and warm. Kind. There was a memory in his mind; it wasn't his (it was Percival's, but Emrys didn't know this), but it was vivid enough. It was the sound of screaming.

He sprung forward, his jaws snapping in the air. They closed about the white dragon's neck, but he couldn't land a fatal blow through the thick scales. She cried out in surprise and anger, and thrashed fiercely beneath his grip. Emrys caught sight of two of the knights, who were slashing with swords at Morgana's flanks and midsection. One of the men seemed to be having very little luck, rebounding off of her glimmering hide with every strike, but the other wielded a much different blade. It was the man with the shining aura, and the weapon he carried had a name. Excalibur.

The sword slid effortlessly into Morgana's back leg, and she roared, sweeping at the man with her tail. He was flung into a tree trunk with one powerful strike and Emrys half-turned instinctively, wanting to see if the man was hurt, and unconsciously he released his grip on Morgana's neck. The moment the pressure of his teeth lightened she heaved against him and he fell onto his back, his wings pinioned beneath him.

The entire clearing seemed to shake with the force of the two dragons hitting the earth, and Emrys realized he had come within a few yards of landing on the knights. It wasn't safe to fight on the ground, not with the fragile men, and even as he felt sharp talons searing through his exposed underbelly he surged up, off of the ground, and took to the air.

Morgana had been thrown off of the smaller dragon when he jetted upwards, and as hoped, she ignored the knights completely in favor of her departing enemy. She took off, leaving Arthur, Percival, and the others to watch from the clearing.

Despite having smaller wings, Emrys did not have the girth of his counterpart; he was lither—built, it seemed, for speed. Morgana could only just keep up, but the sound of her snapping jaws at his tail urged the dragon on faster. He had no idea where he was going, only that his chest and shoulders burned and that he had to go in the opposite direction of the castle, and suddenly a voice rang through his head.

_Merlin. Listen to me._

For a moment the voice was strange, almost dream-like in its unrecognizable familiarity.

_Your name is Merlin._

He understood these words, but it didn't make sense. His name was Emrys.

_You cannot forget yourself, young warlock. You must fight it._

"Kilgharrah?" Emrys said, and he was Merlin, and a surge of fear gripped his heart. "Did I—"

_I told you it would be difficult to keep hold of your human self, but it should have taken decades to reach this level of lethe. There is another force at work here. Someone powerful. You should change back, Merlin, and soon._

Merlin turned his head. Morgana was still flying after him but had fallen back a ways, and when she saw him turning she sped up with a high-pitched cry.

"Kilgharrah, I've barely been a dragon for a few hours. I don't know how to fight her."

_And how long have you been a sorcerer?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was on a fic-writing hiatus for a while, and I started back up again a while ago on FF, but I maybe kind of forgot I even had an AO3 account. The good news is, I'll be able to post a new chapter regularly, because I'm up to chapter 49 on FF. The bad news-- this is barely chapter 20????   
> (Sincere apologies)


	21. No Good Deed

Almost as soon as the thought to use sorcery entered Merlin's mind, he could feel magic welling up beneath his skin (er, scales). It was vibrant, almost hot in its pure power, but somehow manageable. He felt strong. There were no words. There weren't even tangible thoughts. Where his magic had once been laced in his blood, it was now an extension of himself, like an arm or a leg. He didn't have to think about the gusts of wind which buffeted Morgana's wings, or the birds he conjured from clouds whose pecking beaks were nowhere near as soft on the white dragon's scales.

Merlin made to bank in the air, wanting to watch his handiwork, but he was still a novice to flight and fell a few terrifying yards through the air before he caught himself. Morgana had forgotten him completely. She was hissing, snapping her jaws at the puffy falcons which had formed three separate mobs—one about her head, and one about each wing. The first group of birds were acting largely as a distraction, scrabbling for her eyes and tearing at her face, but the other two were doing something far more deadly. Formed from clouds, the falcons had the same amount of condensation in their cores—and the same propensity to freeze. They alighted on the edges of the dragons wings and seemed to ooze together, feather joining with feather until they had created twin encasements of ice.

The white dragon plummeted in a dizzying spiral, followed by the remaining cloud-hawks like ghostly echoes of her scales. Merlin watched Morgana's plight, hovering in the air, his heart racing and a sick feeling in his stomach.

_Merlin, you know what you have to do._

"She'll be back," he said quietly, morosely. "She'll be back and who knows how many people she'll kill. She'll destroy Camelot, Kilgharrah."

_Morgana must be destroyed, yes, but not now. Not like this. Aithusa is the last of her kind, young warlock, and she does not deserve to die for the actions of her mistress. You cannot kill the last true dragon for the sake of Morgana._

Merlin hesitated a moment longer but in a few seconds Morgana would make contact with the treetops, and it would be too late. He dove after her.

The wind whistled around his body but it found no harsh edges to buffet against. His wings had all but collapsed, folded along his back, and to a spectator he might have looked like a black ribbon being pulled towards the earth. Merlin urged himself to go faster, conjuring a wind to propel him after Morgana's form as the wave of green grew closer and closer. In the back of his mind he wondered if he himself would be able to pull up in time. He'd never gone so fast in his life and he was a poor flyer anyways, and it was exhilarating and frightening but he had the time to dwell on neither.

He was coming up on the dragoness and he couldn't think, couldn't imagine anything but the feeling of the trees as they splintered through his bones and so for the second time he parted his lips and doused Morgana in flames.

She screamed and it was not a sound of pain— her scales made her immune to the heat. It was a sound of fear, and Merlin inwardly flinched against it. There was no doubt in his mind that Morgana was remembering the last time she had seen fire so close.

The ice encasing her wings melted within seconds but it felt like an eternity before she was able to move them and Merlin was certain he was too late, he'd taken too long and she was going to crash down to the forest floor, but suddenly she shot upwards like a bullet, slamming into him.

It had been a glancing blow, but Merlin had been flying so fast that the impact sent him tumbling out of control. Morgana flew out of sight without so much as a backwards glance as the black dragon tore through the very tops of the trees.

* * *

"My lord?" Someone was shaking him, and it was gentle but the motion hurt like hell and one of his ribs was definitely broken.

"I'm fine," Arthur tried to wave whoever it was away and they pulled him to his feet. He groaned. "What happened?"

"The dragons took off that way," Blaise said, and his voice had the quality of a man half-asleep. "Merlin was leading her away, but I lost sight of them through the trees."

"We've got to go after him," Arthur reached for his sword, lying in the dirt next to where he'd fallen, and sucked in his breath as his midsection seemed to catch fire.

"And how will that help Merlin?" Another knight asked, but suddenly Percival spoke. He was at the very far edge of the clearing, and as Blaise and Arthur turned, he pulled himself upright on a tree branch.

"I can see them! They're about a league north of us, maybe less, and…" he faltered.

"What?" Arthur asked impatiently, starting towards Percival.

"They're falling," the knight whispered, his face pale. Ignoring Blaise's attempts at ministration, Arthur untied his horse and swung himself onto the saddle. He half-expected Percival to protest, but the man was already on his own steed and galloping northwards.

The group rode at a breakneck pace and within minutes they could hear roaring. Through the gaps in the trees Arthur could see two shapes ahead of them—one far lower and far larger. Morgana. There was something wrong; her wings didn't seem to be working and she thrashed with a panicked fervor, and Merlin was darting after her. Suddenly there was fire shooting from the black dragon's maw, and tongues of it shot back towards Merlin, but when he seemed unfazed the king realized the fire was harmless. A moment passed and Morgana's wings seemed to be changing shape, and Arthur understood that his friend was saving the other dragon.

He was confused, but the confusion changed within moments to rage and fear. Her wings defrosted, Morgana careened into Merlin in her path to escape, and he was thrown to the side, his previous momentum now sending him through the top of the forest with blinding speed. There was a terrible chorus of snapping, like miniature explosions, as he rent a path through the trees. It was a blur of black to the knights but he passed within a few yards of their party before finally skidding to a stop. Compared to the awful sound of his descent, the quiet that followed was deathly.


	22. A Familiar Face

Distantly, Arthur noted with some surprise that Percival was off his horse and sprinting towards the crater before anyone else seemed to have even registered the crash. There was a slithering sound, like the leaves that were blown across the cobblestone streets in the fall, and then nothing. The king took off after his knight, one arm clasped to his side.

There was a giant furrow carved into the earth and as the party approached a few pebbles skittered down the sides. Merlin was lying in the center of the hollow, almost curled in on himself, and he looked impossibly small compared to the furrow he'd created.

"Merlin!" Arthur slid down the embankment, desperately watching for any sort of movement. There was no answer but as he drew nearer, he saw a rise and fall in the sorcerer's chest and heaved a sigh of relief. "He's alive," he called to the knights waiting at the top of the ridge, and Merlin stirred.

"Not bad for a first landing," he murmured sleepily, and a smile tugged at his lips.

"Are you kidding me? That was awful," Arthur said, and he chuckled, even though it hurt his ribs. "Your flying is as bad as your manservant abilities."

"I'm not a manservant any more, didn't you hear? I got promoted." Merlin sat up slowly, and Arthur caught sight of a thin rivulet of blood threading its way down his face from his temple.

"Not badly hurt then?" There was a shift in the king's voice but Merlin didn't pick up on it.

"Surprisingly, no. I think the tree boughs must have caught the worst of the—"

"Then would you mind telling me what in the _hell_ you were thinking?"

"Sorry?" Merlin staggered to his feet. Arthur looked angry, as angry as he had been when he'd revealed his magic, and he couldn't help but flinch as the king's voice rose.

"I saw you. You saved her." Arthur could hear his own mounting fury and like Merlin he was reminded of Avalon—only he was thinking about how the sorcerer had kept such great and terrible secrets for so long, and he couldn't help but wonder if Morgana had been one of them. " _Why?_ "

"It didn't seem—"

"She's a _dragon_ , Merlin, and you of all people should know what she's capable of! Do you know how many people will die if she decides to strike at the kingdom? Don't you remember what happened the last time a dragon attacked Camelot?"

"I couldn't kill her!" The sorcerer burst out, and he looked at Arthur as if he was pleading with him to understand. "Aithusa, the white dragon—I was the one who hatched her egg, Arthur, I _named_ her and Kilgharrah said she was a good omen for you and for Albion, and she's the last real dragon. It's not her, it's Morgana. She can't help what Morgana makes her do and I can't kill her for that." He paused, about to speak again.

 _I know what it feels like_ , he wanted to say, but Arthur didn't know about the Fomorroh and now didn't seem a good time to bring it up.

"It would have been wrong," he mumbled instead.

"And if—" Arthur's lips tightened. " _When_ she comes to Camelot, what then? Could you kill her then?"

"If I had to," Merlin said softly, and at his downcast gaze Arthur softened slightly.

"We should get back," one of the knights called, and the king nodded in assent, starting up the embankment.

"Arthur, I—" For the second time, the sorcerer was about to speak and thought better of it. There was something he had to ask his king, a promise, but it could wait. It had to. "I'm sorry," he lied.

"I don't know what I expected," Arthur said over his shoulder, but his tone was no longer reproachful. "I've always said you couldn't hurt a fly."

* * *

"Oh, Merlin," she laughed and the sound was sweet, echoing through the abandoned halls of the abandoned ruins. "Your power may have grown, but you are still _so_ weak. A pity."

She lifted her fingers from the fount and regarded their transparency with a sigh. She wasn't ready to face him, not for a while yet, but she could think of little else. She liked to picture his surprised expression, or maybe one of fear, and then the blankness. He had such a goofy face, but death had a way of fixing all that. He wouldn't get away this time.

Many leagues away, packing herbs in to a bottle, Gaius began to cough.


	23. Angel

When the black dragon opened its jaws Morgana saw fire building up in the back of its throat and a wave of crippling panic overtook her. She tossed the scale onto the bedspread, her breath coming in ragged gasps. For a moment she was unable to even move, petrified by the memory of the searing heat and the agony. It was Aithusa that prompted her to move again. The dragon was ordinarily calm, almost demure, but now she was radiating a flurry of emotions and all of them were negative. There was betrayal, and anger, and confusion, and sadness, and pain. Although the dragon could not speak, Morgana knew exactly what she was asking.

_Why?_

"I didn't mean to let it go that far," Morgana began to sob, but Aithusa could sense that this was only partially true. Yes, the sorceress had not wanted Aithusa hurt, but all the same she had been emanating a burning sense of focus during the attack—a _need_. Morgana hadn't felt complete since before the fire, and controlling the dragon had made her feel strong again. "You understand better than anyone. Merlin _must_ pay for what he's done."

Aithusa could feel her mistress's sorrows as her own. The death of Morgause was like a stab to the heart, and the death of Mordred was equally difficult to bear. She could remember a time before her own birth, when Merlin's name sounded warm, like home. But then he'd hurt the sorceress and the bitterness had begun to form. The hole he'd left ached doubly when Morgana discovered his powers, and not necessarily because he'd been her faceless nemesis for so long. No, it hurt because when Morgana was discovering her powers, Merlin had let her believe she was alone. A freak. He'd chosen the son of Uther over his own people, and Morgana could never forgive him for that. He was a liar and a murderer.

These things Aithusa knew from Morgana, things which had been formed and cemented in the pit. But Aithusa knew other things, too, and they muddled her brain. Merlin was bad. He was evil, Morgana said so herself, and Morgana had never lied to her. And yet the sorcerer's aura was familiar. Aithusa knew him from before she entered the world. He had been in her dreams as she slept for a hundred years, and in those dreams, he was good. He protected her as an egg and brought her into the world and named her after the light of the sun. His face was the first face Aithusa ever saw.

Aithusa decided not to fly home just yet. She angled away from the sorceress's hut and away from Camelot, wandering slowly and aimlessly and watching the light of the afternoon deepen. Her mind drifted towards Kilgharrah.

* * *

 

Arthur thought Merlin to be uncharacteristically quiet on the ride back to Camelot, and it dawned on him that it wasn't about his own outburst in the forest. There was something else on the warlock's mind.

"Are you going to tell me this time?" he asked. His voice was low so the other knights wouldn't hear, and he stared down the path ahead. There was a grim set to his face and Merlin sighed.

"I don't know what you—"

"Don't you dare." The king did look at his ex-servant now and his eyes bore into Merlin's. "I'm done with that bullshit."

"Something's wrong," he said simply, offering a smile which was meant to be reassuring. It came off as sad. "Back there… I had no idea who I was."

"Sorry?"

"I didn't know you or any of the knights," Merlin's voice trembled slightly and he cleared his throat. "I didn't even know my own name. I only recognized you as someone important to me, someone to protect. And if Kilgharrah hadn't said anything I don't think I ever would have—"

"I thought Kilgharrah was dead?" Arthur asked sharply.

"I still hear him, sometimes. A piece of him stayed with me." Merlin took a deep breath. "Arthur, this isn't supposed to happen. I'm not supposed to forget things, not like that, and it's only going to get worse. He says someone's making this happen to me."

"Morgana?"

"I don't think so. This is too advanced for her." Merlin paused. "Arthur, I need you to promise me something."

"Anything." The king frowned. Something in his friend's voice worried him.

"The more I change, the more likely it is that I can't… that I won't come back. But I trust you, Arthur, I always trust you, and I need you to promise me never to let that happen."

"Merlin, what do you—"

"I'm human, Arthur. I don't want to be anything else. I need you to swear that—"

"That I'll kill you?" His voice rose and Merlin looked around hurriedly, but Arthur was beyond quieting. "How could you even ask me that? I don't—"

"Please," it was soft, almost a whisper. "I can't ask anyone else. I want… I _need_ … you."

"Merlin…"

"Do you have any idea how terrifying it was? I had no idea what I'd done or who I'd hurt, only that I could smell blood, and I didn't know where I'd been or how long. It was like dying, Arthur."

"Don't ask this of me," the king murmured. "I'm not strong enough."

Merlin's shoulders fell but he nodded, and as Arthur watched he forced another wry smile. "It was a long shot."

They rode on in silence, neither man looking at the other.

_I'm not strong enough,_ Arthur thought to himself. _Oh, gods, never make me have to be strong enough._


	24. Double Trouble

At first, Arthur thought the sound was another patient.

As soon as they'd made it back to Camelot he and Merlin had been sent to Gaius's chambers at the behest of the other knights (namely, Percival), but as they neared the door a pained, hacking cough stopped the two in their tracks. Merlin was the first to stir, walking through the door like as if he were asleep.

"Everything alright?" Gaius was hunched over the table, and as Arthur spoke the physician turned. His skin was pale, deathly so, but his eyes were unnervingly bright.

"It's just a cold," he waved a hand, trying to speak airily, but his face turned red in an effort to stem another bought of coughing. Merlin almost ran to him, leading him to a bench. "I shouldn't have been out in the rain, that's all. Sometimes I forget how… old I've gotten."

"Don't say that," Merlin frowned and sat next to Gaius. He looked upset.

"It was bound to happen eventually, my boy. Age catches up with the best of us."

"What are your symptoms?" Merlin was standing again, rifling through the carefully labelled jars with such speed that Arthur feared he'd break something. He began laying a few out on the table—angelica, horehound, cress. "Do you have a headache? Fever? Nausea? Aches? I can make you a tea. Or a—"

"Merlin, truly, it's just a simple cough," Gaius protested, but Arthur sensed he was trying not to worry his ward. There was a quiet edge to his voice that it scared the king more than the soft rattling he'd noticed in the physician's chest.

"I don't think so," the sorcerer said resolutely, giving Gaius his best caretaker's glare as he held a hand out to feel the man's forehead. "Gods, you're burning up. I'll add some laurel."

"Do you know what it is?" Arthur spoke quietly so Merlin wouldn't hear. Gaius paused, sighing deeply.

"I'm not entirely certain, sire, but it is familiar. And I don't think any amount of tea is going to help me." 

* * *

Aithusa was still flying when an unfamiliar voice sounded in her mind.

_Soon, little one. Tell your mistress she is not alone in her noble quest._

The dragon felt power emanating from the speaker, but also a strange absent quality. Whoever it was seemed like a specter—not quite here, not quite there. See-through.

_Emrys can only straddle the line between his kind and yours for so long, my pet. Soon he will have to choose. And to save his precious king, he will always choose the same. It's almost a shame to waste such a pretty face._

Morgana picked up the scale then, sensing something was amiss.

"Aithusa? Where have you—"

_The hermit queen, the voice said, and there was a smirk in the words. Tell me, does the blacksmith bitch still sit on your throne?_

"Who are you?" Morgana jerked upright, her eyes wide and searching in the dark.

_If we met, darling, it was only briefly, and more's the pity. We would have made a great team. We'll make a great team yet._

"Identify yourself, coward."

_Coward?_

"Why else would you hide in the shadows? Are you scared?"

_Scared? There was the ghost of a laugh. It is you who should be scared of me. The Triple Goddess may have abandoned you, my love, but She never forgot me._

"I'm not abandoned. I—"

_You're sitting in a hovel, blind and afraid._

"And you?" Morgana spat.

_I'm getting stronger. She imagined the sound of a shrug. In her infinite mercy the Goddess wakened me to do Her holy work. The sorcerer must be destroyed._

"Who are you?"

_I preceded you and your late sister in both life and power. I am a High Priestess, and I am the woman who kills Emrys._

"And you want to work together?"

_I am still weak, Morgana, more weak even than you. My hold on this world is tenuous. It is getting stronger, but it will be some time yet before I can walk among men._

"What do you need me to do?"

_Every moment Emrys takes the form of a dragon heightens the chance that he'll be unable to return to his human self. He will forget his name, and even his powers- which if I'm not mistaken, is how he bested you._

"So you need me to coax him out?"

_He will do anything for Camelot, and above all, for Arthur. I trust you can figure out the rest. But Morgana?_

"What?"

_Save the final blow for me._

Morgana and Aithusa both could sense the presence disappearing, receding back to wherever it came from, and the sorceress relaxed into her pillows. This stranger could be useful. A single High Priestess was powerful, but two…

She didn't know how she would go about luring Merlin to the skies, or even the name of the woman she was considering working alongside, but she did know one thing.

The only one who would strike the blow ending Merlin's miserable life would be her.


	25. Ministrations

Merlin had stopped showing up to council meetings, and any time one of the more senior members made a comment about his absence, Arthur silenced them with a withering glare. He himself barely saw the sorcerer, and when he did it was easy to tell how Gaius was doing without even entering his chambers. Merlin's hair might have been a little unruly before but now it was absolutely wild, and there were dark rings under his eyes as if he hadn't slept since the party returned to Camelot.

Gaius was getting worse.

One morning Arthur stopped by, announcing himself with a cursory knock on the door, and Merlin bolted upright from where he had been slumped over a table. There were innumerable bottles littering the surface in front of him, most emptied, some turned on their sides or even shattered on the ground nearby as if in great frustration.

"Arthur," he beamed, but it was wan and tired. "I'm sorry I haven't been in lately, I—"

"How's Gaius?" Arthur asked softly, and any pretension of a smile fell from his friend's face. Merlin led him to the bed in his old room.

"I moved him up here so he wasn't disturbed when people came in asking for herbs," he explained. "He's been like this for the past few days."

Gaius was propped up with a generous amount of very fluffy pillows (Gwen had brought them from the royal stores personally), a stack of books at his side. He looked almost as if he'd fallen asleep reading, but the rattle Arthur had heard when he first fell ill hadn't gone away. In fact, it had grown noticeably louder, and he saw Merlin flinch at each ragged intake of breath. It sounded like a death rattle.

"Nothing I've tried is working," Merlin said bitterly. "I've tried my magic and every potion he's ever taught me. I even brought in a few of the Druids from the village, and he's still the same."

Arthur didn't know what to say, but the pain stamped across the sorcerer's face resonated in his own chest. He'd known Gaius all his life. No matter what Uther or Arthur had said or done, the old physician had never been anything but loyal and wise. Arthur respected him more than any other man alive, save Merlin, in the kingdom.

"You'll figure something out," he offered, but Merlin didn't seem to be listening.

"He's always taken care of me," he sat heavily in a stool at Gaius's bedside, and Arthur got the impression that he had spent many a night in that same spot. "And now that it's my turn I can't… I…"

Merlin's face contorted and for a moment Arthur didn't understand what was happening. The sorcerer's hands flew up to cover his mouth and he rocked slightly in the chair, and Arthur heard a stifled sob.

Another moment passed and Merlin seemed to catch hold of himself. He pressed a palm into one eye, swiping away at the tears there even as another rolled, uninterrupted, down his other cheek. Arthur was suddenly overwhelmed with an unshakeable idea that Merlin was used to hiding his sorrow, and he felt a twinge of shame. Tactfully he walked across the room, pretending he was looking at the books piled high at Gaius's bedside and not at the sorcerer.

"He's still taking care of me, you know?" Merlin spoke after a few minutes. His voice was husky, and he cleared his throat, and when he spoke again he sounded almost normal. "All he does when he's awake is research. He's trying to figure out how to stop… whatever's happening to me. Says it's more important than a cure for himself." He laughed wryly. "Geoffrey brings the manuscripts to him every morning. It's funny, I'd never seen him outside of the library before."

"Has he found anything yet?" Arthur picked up an ancient tome, flipping through it. There were strips of parchment marking a few pages, but the language was unreadable to the king.

"No," came the reply, but it wasn't Merlin's voice. The young men both turned to find Gaius hoisting himself a bit higher on the pillows, his face sallow but his eyes bright. "Not yet, but I have the entire Royal Library to search."

"You need rest," Merlin protested, but he was genuinely smiling for the first time since his mentor fell ill.

"As do you, my boy, from the looks of you." He clucked, shaking his head slightly. "No matter. You can help with my research." He grabbed a book, handing it to Merlin, and then turned, smiling, to the king of Camelot. "And so can you."

He took another book for himself and flipped to a page marked with parchment, impervious to the expression on Arthur's face—a curious mixture of surprise, resentment, and admiration, which Merlin found hilarious. He smirked, but tried to look deeply absorbed in his own texts as Arthur shot him a kingly glower.


	26. Free At Last

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Guess who's back? -X

_Merlin…_

Merlin fell out of the chair next to Gaius's bed, his heart racing. He couldn't shake the image of blue eyes, as deep and impenetrable as the sea, from his mind. They were familiar, mischievous and frightening.

_I'm coming, Merlin_ , she had said, and the voice was familiar too, but the dream was fading too fast and he couldn't remember who it was. _Come find me. Come play._

He pulled himself back into the chair, noting with relief that his fall hadn't woken Gaius.

_Who are you?_   He asked, but there was no answer.

* * *

 

Aithusa loved her morning trips.

She left just before dawn every day, when Morgana was still asleep, and flew as high as she dared. The stars hadn't yet faded away by that time, pinpricks of silver against a softening purple blanket. They had been her only comfort those two years she spent in an open grave with Morgana and when she saw them now she felt the same sense of hopefulness. She liked to watch the sun rise, too. It bathed the tops of the trees in a burnished gold and it made the world seem full of promise.

She didn't like it when Morgana controlled her. She felt like a puppet in her own skin. Given the choice she wouldn't have fought that black dragon in the woods—whatever her mistress's feelings towards the men from Camelot, Aithusa hadn't seen another of her kind in a long while. She was lonely. She knew, inexplicably, that Kilgharrah had died, and it made her sad. They hadn't been together for long before she'd left with the sorceress but all the same, he had been so happy around her. Kind. Aithusa had gotten the impression that he was terribly lonely, too, and she hadn't understood it at the time. Now she did, and all too well.

Aithusa did her best not to think on her trips. She focused on the stars, and on the sun, and on how lovely the forests were, because she didn't want to focus on how she was becoming more and more certain that Morgana was obsessed. The dragon was scared. Morgana had long been all she had, and she would follow the sorceress to the end of the earth, but all the same… Surely it was wrong to take control of your only friend. And maybe that was excusable. Morgana really did feel that she had lost everything. She was crippled and broken-hearted and Aithusa would do anything to help, but she didn't want to hurt people. She never wanted to kill. Kilgharrah had always taught her mercy, he said, after he learned it from a dear friend. She wished she could talk to Morgana about it, but she didn't have the words. Aithusa didn't think that she'd be able to get through to her besides.

At that moment she could feel Morgana stirring and it was with a heavy heart that she turned back.

* * *

 

Deep within the Isle of the Blessed, the priestess wandered. She was still transient, drifting like the fog that wrapped in tendrils around the ruins of her castle, but she could feel her magic settling in with an ebony brilliance. It was too early for her to leave the island, but that was no matter, because she had to prepare for a very special guest.

She floated towards the shoreline, kneeling and immersing her hands in the waters of the lake. There were no ripples at her touch; it was as if she'd slid her fingers through black glass.

_"Alase meina emeís nekkrús,"_ her voice was low, like thunder, and it could be heard resounding across the bay and onwards, through the Darkling Woods and beyond. _"Namo da̱sei ayendres ḵrís kardidá, kho̱rís ancéfalo. Alase meina cotopóti̱n triplí̱fengári kaina sotosae to kharino drakon."_

**_Come to me, ye dead. Give me men without hearts, without minds. Come to me under the triple moon and kill the crimson dragon._ **

In the depths of the Lake of Avalon, something shifted in the mud. There was a deep, hollow groaning, made wet by the mulch. It spoke of ageless agony, but it spoke also of relief. There were thousands of voices, and they came not just from the lake, but from the forests, and from the mountains.

" ** _Free,_** " they said, and the sound grew louder as they came closer to the surface.

"Free from the _earth_ and the _fires..."_

"We spent so _long_ in the dark—"

"-so long in the _black."_

"Mistress is calling us."

**_"We will kill the dragon."_ **


	27. Reveal

Arthur had doubled the patrols around Camelot. It was only a matter of time before Morgana struck again, of that he was certain, and he didn't want to be caught off-guard. His men trained rigorously every morning, and he recruited new knights every day. With the legalization of sorcery a faction of magic-wielding soldiers developed and Arthur was starting to realize what a massive asset he'd been ignoring. There was even a surge of Druid warriors, eager to help protect their new home.

Merlin left Gaius's bedside for a few hours a week to teach technique sessions to the troops of sorcerers. Arthur took to standing on the sidelines and watching, as Merlin had often done during his own training hours. It was still strange to watch his old servant use magic, and a little awe-inspiring, too. The effortless way he conjured flame and stone was… well, breathtaking. His performances were amplified by the fact that, little by little, his concealment spell had begun to slip over the past few weeks. Arthur knew it was because of Gaius; Merlin was constantly thinking of him. He didn't seem to sleep, and whatever off-time he allowed himself from potion-making and research was spent with the soldiers. What had started with dark circles under his eyes had become flares of scales on his cheekbones, the faintest hints of horns peering out from his hair, even a tail (it disappeared when Arthur pointed it out, however).

"Have you made any progress?" Arthur murmured one day, walking up to Merlin, who was surveying his class as they created fissures in the grass in front of them. The soldiers newer to magic were struggling somewhat, a few beaming at hairline cracks in the lawn. The Druids were stifling grins, and as gaping chasms formed at their feet, the king got the impression that they were even holding back.

"I'm running out of books," Merlin offered a crooked smile but didn't break his gaze from the men and women in front of him. "And still he refuses to help me. He keeps talking about how there'll be a way to fix me in one of the books Geoffrey brings him." He paused, finally turning to look at Arthur. "He always wakes up when that librarian comes. I don't know how he knows, but he's up and beaming like it's Yule. He really thinks he can save me, Arthur."

"Maybe he can," Arthur offered quietly, but neither of them really believed it. A moment passed in silence and then he left his friend to the soldiers, heading towards the physicians chambers.

Arthur heard humming as he knocked on the doorway, and it stopped. He could just see Gaius's face from where he stood, glancing up from a book, and the old man smiled warmly.

"Good day, sire. I hope nothing ails you?" He called cheerfully, and Arthur walked up the slight steps, taking Merlin's chair at the man's bedside.

"I'm in perfect health," he said, and Gaius gave him a once-over.

"I'd respectfully disagree with that statement, based on the lines on your forehead," the physician returned to his book. "Looks like a digestive issue. I'd recommend warm lemon-water in the mornings."

Arthur smoothed his brow self-consciously.

"If you wanted to grab a book, sire, I—"

"I didn't come here for that, Gaius," Arthur murmured, but the old man seemed to be ignoring him. "When are you going to tell him you already know what's…"

"What's killing me?" he spoke nonchalantly, but the paper between his index and middle finger quivered slightly. "Don't you think he has enough on his mind already?"

"He's working himself into the ground trying to find a cure for you."

"And what do you think he'll do when I tell him that I'm going to die, my lord? That all his magic won't save me?" Gaius shook his head and turned the page. "It's better he has that hope."

"So what is this mysterious illness, then? It certainly didn't come from a little rain." Arthur talked in a lowered voice, as if Merlin was in the room (although with his newfound dragon senses, the king was never certain what his advisor did and didn't hear).

"If I'm right…" Gaius finally closed the book, and for the first time that day Arthur could see plainly how frail he'd become. "I know who's enchanting Merlin. A sorceress that bartered my life for another soul. I was saved when Merlin killed her, which means that when I die, she'll come back."

"Can't Merlin just—"

"Kill her? I think that's what she's hoping, my lord. There is no doubt in my mind that she's laid a trap for him. If he were to find out who's responsible for… for me, there would be no stopping him. He  _cannot_ know."

"Who is she, Gaius?"

"I fear... Her name is Nimueh."


End file.
